


Song and Sword Arc I; Serendipity/Sabotage

by Steelharp



Series: Song and Sword [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Awkward Romance, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Corruption, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Intrigue, Ishgard Politics (Final Fantasy XIV), Major Original Character(s), Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, Missing Persons, Narcotics, Organized Crime, POV Alternating, Poetry, Poison, Slow Burn, Ul'dah (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steelharp/pseuds/Steelharp
Summary: Pascalle is not the warrior of light. Neither is Nasrinne. But the Warrior of Light's tale isn't the only tale that's been unfolding on Hydaelyn. This is the story of two star-crossed lovers, who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. Plagued by the long years of war and with his heart holding a dark secret, Pascalle believed there was little good in the world. That is until a serendipitous meeting with the idealistic and inquisitive Nasrinne reunites him with a lost friend, and unwittingly sets him on a path toward both jeopardy and justice.
Series: Song and Sword [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114217
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This entire work (consisting of 4 arcs total) has been adapted and edited from a roleplay between my fiance and me that took place over the course of 18 months. It cements the backstory of our OC's within the world of FFXIV and Hydaelyn, and has been a labour of love for both of us.  
> Canon terminology has been used as much as possible, please forgive any slips in vernacular.  
> As the events of the game's MSQ exist within a time bubble, creative license has taken place when describing the passing of time between events.  
> Majority of supporting characters are original NPC’s we created. Relationships with MSQ characters referenced in passing have been kept intentionally vague to allow our backstory to exist flexibly with the backstories of other OC’s and RPers we interact with.  
> If you're a fellow RPer and you'd like to learn more about our OC's feel free to visit our tumblr @ steelharp.tumblr.com/ (best viewed on desktop)

##  **Chapter 1**

**_Fallgourd Float; Twelveswood_ **

Nasrinne couldn’t remember the last time she’d had cause to wear a cotton blouse with no overcoat. She stood with her eyes closed, leaning against the sun-soaked wood of the bridge’s rail and breathing deeply of the rich, earthy smell of the dewdrops, clinging to the blades of grass and the curves of the stone.

How long had it been since she had smelled the scent of sunshine? It must have been about the same time she wore a blouse without a coat. The warm rays of the sun pricking the back of her neck. She gave a soft sigh as she opened her eyes and looked out across the spread of the green canopy and the bustling walkways.

Fallgourd Float was a beautiful little town. The wooden buildings all nestled around the banks of the river and connected by a series of quaint wooden bridges. She had hardly missed Coerthas at all since she arrived, and she was feeling a little guilty over the fact.

“Such a long sigh.” Said the voice to her right, “Is it so much trouble, looking after your old brother?”

Nasrinne laughed, spinning to face Jhulayne with her broad grin.

“Don’t speak such nonsense. You’re the least troublesome person to look after under both the moons, Jhulayne.” She pinched his cheek as her laughter died to a murmur. Sometimes it was still hard to believe he was here. Alive.

“Ah, then you must have been dreaming fondly of your Paramore back in Ishgard.” His green eyes twinkled merrily as he cupped his chin with his one good hand, tilting his head, grinning slyly, as he teased.

“Now  _ that _ is an even bigger load of nonsense.” She scoffed, openly at the thought.

“I’ve been gone five years, Nas, and you’re telling me Mother and Ygrinne still haven’t found some bachelor to marry you off to?” Jhulayne swung his arms wide in faux exasperation, lifting his palms to the sky. Well, he lifted his palm, and should there have been a hand at the end of his right arm, it’s palm would have faced the heavens just as surely as the left one did.

When Nasrinne had first arrived in Fallgourd at the beginning of the new moon, her eyes had hardly been able to stay fixed on her brother’s face at all. Forever flickering down to the raw, rounded stump where his right hand had once been. She was furious, and angry, but with no one to direct the emotions with she’d done the only thing she could do under the circumstances. She’d gotten rid of them. Written them away, transformed them into  _ very _ poor lyrics, though the tunes were pretty. It was not that she had grown used to the thought that fate and circumstance had robbed her brother Jhulayne of the single-minded pursuit which he had devoted his life to. It was that she realised that dwelling on it would do him no good. Or her.

He had not really been himself when he arrived. By all accounts from the town’s folk he’d not been himself for five years. And understandably so. How could one begin to feel like themselves when everything they used to do was suddenly beyond their capabilities?

But when he poked fun at her, she could see the thick case of ice and fear around his heart melting.

“It’s quite difficult to marry off a woman whom no one wants to marry, dear brother of mine.” She replied with a crooked smile.

On the one hand, it was both a relief and an amusement that she was not yet expected to be swaddling sons and hosting dinner parties. Then again on the other hand, there was that saying about Starlight pudding… she was almost in her twenty-fifth summer, and like the holiday pudding, Nasrinne would lose her appeal after that number became twenty-six. Her eyes narrowed a moment as she marked the face of Everett de Ruedaye in her mind. He was the one who had told her that. It had been just after her nineteenth name day, and  _ right _ after she had won their arm-wrestling match. She’d bested him all three times, (much to the delight of Jhulayne and her Father’s soldiers.) But that was entirely his fault for assuming that because her arms were small, they couldn’t be strong. She snorted to herself under her breath. What a fool. You could hardly draw back the string of a composite longbow with weak wrists. She had hated Everett even more after Snowcloak, when she had been certain Jhulayne was dead.

“Oh, my sweet little bird.” He said with a sigh of his own. “How many times must I tell you? Don’t speak so unkindly of yourself.” He shook his head as he watched her, watching her reflection in the ripples below. “You will make a fine wife once Mother and Ygrinne see fit to stop introducing you to simpering fools.”

“Perhaps there are only simpering fools  _ left _ in Coerthas? Plus. It’s hardly so hospitable as this. Are you sure you want to go back? Maybe you can marry me off to a Wildwood?”

Jhulayne laughed, heartily at her jests.

“My heart longs to return to Coerthas, Nas.” He said when it finally faded, “All the sun rays in Gridania can’t compare to our home…”

_ They can now. And I dare say the sun rays in Gridania would win _ .

“There’s no summer rain in Coerthas anymore, brother.” She frowned as she said it, “It snows and snows for suns on end. I don’t recall the last time I saw anything green growing from the ground. It isn’t the home you remember.”

“Now who is speaking nonsense. As if the weather is what makes Coerthas home.” He wrapped her up in a tight bear hug before she even had a chance to protest the open display of affection. Not that she would have anyway. “Besides, it’s obvious I’m going to have to take over from Ygrinne and find you a suitable husband.”

Nasrinne rolled her eyes as they parted.

“ _ Jhulayne _ .” She tutted after saying his name, which only broadened his grin. 

“A clever, capable woman like you needs a confident match. Not a dim-witted little weasel like, oh what was that silly twats name? Lord Emmett?”

“Lord  _ Everett _ de Ruedaye. I was just thinking about him.” Nasrinne snorted again, this time hiding the uninvited sound behind her hand as she covered her face, collapsing into a fit of giggles.

“I could tell. You get that same icy look in your eyes every time.” Came his cheeky reply.

“He was a silly twat. Wasn’t he?”

“Gods. By the Fury, yes. Boy wouldn’t even consider becoming a knight…”

“Well, that’s why Yggy picked him, isn’t it? Because I’d be less likely to be widowed, and it’s hardly as if any families of our social standing have any knights left in them anymore anyway.” She shrugged, “Nor really any need for them anymore...” She mused thoughtfully. “It’s all politics in the city now, brother.”

“Well I’m not letting my sister marry a politician.” He said, pretending to be stern, “So, we’ll have to marry you up! Find you some rich noble with a family airship! It can’t be  _ that _ hard. Ygrinne did it.” He shrugged haphazardly, regarding her with another slowly creeping smirk. Ygrinne had done it. In fact, it was thanks to the Vernisse family airship that she was even standing there. But there were a lot of differences between Nasrinne and her eldest sister.

She thrust a hand on her hip, pouting at her brother for the briefest moment before turning her face to the cornflower blue sky, watching the cotton thin strips of the clouds roll gently past them.

“Yggy is prettier than I am.” She began. This was true. Ygrinne was a dazzling beauty. Like Jhulayne, she took after their mother, with rich, glossy chestnut curls and sparkling green eyes. She was tall, with long, delicate fingers and sweeping cheekbones and a pair of lips that were red as a rolanberry.

Nasrinne on the other hand took after her other brother, Karlyne. The one she’d never known. There had been a portrait of him hanging in their family hall in the Highlands. They did look alike. The same raven-black hair, the same ink-blue eyes. The same shade as her great grandfather’s eyes, apparently. But Nasrinne had never met him either. She tossed her dark hair back from her face, looking at the brother she did know, continuing to expand upon her argument, counting her points off on her fingers.    
“And she doesn’t trip over herself whenever she has to make small talk. And she  _ certainly _ never challenged one of her suitors to an arm-wrestling match in the mess hall of the manor’s barracks.”

“You and your lists.” Now it was Jhulayne’s turn to tut at her. “Yggy may be fair of face and full of grace, Nasrinne, but she’ll never have half the personality you do.”

“A lady is not supposed to have even half of my personality. I daresay even an eighth of it would be too much.” Her lips curled into a sly smirk of their own. “Besides, Jhulayne,  _ you _ are well past marrying age by now. I dare say we should focus on  _ your _ romantic endeavours  _ first _ .”

They may not have looked the same but spend ten-minutes in the same room with them and you would soon see how similar they were, beneath the surface.

“See.” He said chuckling beneath his breath, “That droll sense of humour is exactly what I’m talking about. Plenty of girls have pretty faces, but one who can make you laugh… that’s special, Nas.”

“ _ You _ are speaking kindly because you are my dear, beloved brother and you should not suffer the thought that I am pining away for a suitor. But I assure you, Jhulayne. I’m  _ not _ .” She said it a touch firmly.

Her brother’s response was an acquiescing smile.

“No, I know. You’ve been keeping yourself far too busy to pine, taking over  _ my _ job.” There was that rueful grin again. “I read Father’s letter while I was waiting for you to arrive. He said You’d been manning the walls and leading patrols, and all the men adore you because you spent a whole sun baking everyone pastry fish for the feast of Saint Valentione’s.”

“Well it’s quite expensive to make chocolate seeing as we can hardly grow kukuru beans beneath three feet of snow.”

“When did my little sister grow into such a good, kind woman? I feel like it was only yesterday that you were crying because you thought the moons would be cold in the sky or planning your vaunted wedding to Estinien Wyrmblood.”

Nasrinne pursed her lips and glanced over her shoulder to make sure none had overheard that.

“Let’s not revisit the childish notions I had when I was  _ eight  _ in such a public place, brother.” She hissed at him. Then she gave another little sigh. “And, you didn’t  _ taste _ the pastry fish. So, I would not start showering me with compliments just yet.”

He was laughing at her again, and she couldn’t help but smile. This was how she wanted to see him most, even if all his amusement came at her expense.

But once they had both departed for the sunless skies of Coerthas once more, Jhulayne’s mood turned dour. There was nothing he could  _ do _ at Whitebrim. Not to mention there was little left  _ to _ do. Peace with the heretics, peace with the dragons.

“Don’t worry about what you’ll do now, brother. We’ve still a mountain range to fly across.” Nasrinne told him as she watched the lush, green forests of Gridania grow smaller and smaller beneath them. Though she couldn’t blame her brother for not wanting to leave… She felt like she could have spent a lot more time in The Shroud.

\----

**_The Pillars; Ishgard_ **

Pascalle sighed in relief as he stepped into the warm foyer of his family’s estate in the Pillars. What he wouldn’t give to be able to walk about the city streets in a light linen jacket again. The sunlight warm on his back. Even if it was sunny in Foundation, it was always cold.

“Big brother is home!” He could hear the delighted squeal of Anais from all the way in the sitting room. How she could tell it was him just by the sound of a door opening, he wasn’t sure. But perhaps that was a special talent which only little sisters possessed. She appeared around the corner just seconds later, rushing up the long hall toward him. Her long silver braids swishing to and fro behind her like a pair of pendulums.

“Anais! Don’t run in the house!” His Mother called half-heartedly after the little girl. It was pointless though. She was already running. He only just had time to hand his coat off to the servant boy before she bounded up, arms already open and waiting for him to grab her up and spin her around while she giggled, endlessly.

“I got you a surprise at the Crozier today.” He said with a grin, watching as her violet eyes lit up with excitement.

“What is it? Can I see now?” The questions began to tumble from her lips the moment he set her down.

“He can show you the trinket in a minute, Anais.” The voice was as cold and thin as the ice on the steps outside. Just like that, Pascalle’s easy smile vanished. He looked up at where his Father stood near the stairwell, with a face like stone. “Go and finish practicing your needlework. I need to speak to Pascalle in the study.”

“But Father–”

“Run along Anais.” Pascalle said patting her head gently, “I’ll come see you in the sitting room, you can show me how beautiful your embroidery is getting.”

His sister acquiesced with a begrudging whine. Skittering back down the hall toward where his Mother waited, a few steps out of his Father’s view.

“Study.” His Father said the word like a command, turning abruptly on his heel and striding up the stairs without a backwards glance.

Atreux Dubois was a rich man. But no room in his house highlighted this fact better than his private study. It was a room that few people saw the inside of. But it had been designed in such a way to impress the extent of his wealth and power on any who did.

The elegant oak desk had been made at a time when oak was still a tree that graced the lands of Coerthas. It was a high desk, and the chair behind it was handsomely carved from the same wood. The colour and grain a perfect match. Its seat was set higher than the chairs which guests would sit in. Though they looked similar; the same dark red velvet cushions, the same decorative patterns carved into the legs and arms. This was to give the illusion that Atreux was natural above them. He sat above them without them even realising, they had no choice but to accept it the moment they sat in the chair he offered them.

His Father’s desk faced the large, bay window that overlooked the streets of the Pillars. Guests say with their backs to the window. Again, this was all by design. A subtle reminder that Atreux Dubois could see what they could not.

But none of this meant anything to Pascalle, who had been forced to sit in one of those chairs and listen to his Father’s lectures for his entire life.

“Sit.” Atreux said, walking around to take his own seat. “You weren’t at breakfast. Why? I wanted to speak with you before you left today.”

“You never told me you wanted to speak with me, Father.” Pascalle shrugged, “I met some friends for breakfast this morning at the Forgotten Knight.”

“ _ Really _ ?” If the tone didn’t illustrate his displeasure clearly, then the expression on his face did. “I thought I told you to stop frequenting the low born establishments?”

“There is no low born or highborn establishments anymore, Father. They’re all just… establishments.”

The expression of displeasure soured to disgust.

“That’s why I wanted to speak with you this morning… something  _ must _ be done about that Borel Bastard. We can’t stop him adopting this ridiculous new system of rule anymore. That much is clear, but we  _ must _ get the  _ right _ men into the House of Commons, Pascalle.”

“Well, Father. I think that’s up to the citizenry.”

“Don’t get  _ smart _ with me, boy.” Atreux raised a finger, looking down the length of it at his son. Pascalle was hardly a boy anymore. He was already thirty. Still, this would never stop his Father from using the word to address him. “Listen to me. This is what you’re going to do on your next sun off from  _ guard duty _ .” The contempt in his voice was palpable as he spoke the words. He lowered his hand again, looking away from his son and out the window at the pale, grey sky. His bottom lip quivering slightly. There were few things that Atreux found more contemptible than the thought of his son, once a lauded knight who had slain dragons, now spent his days aiding the common riffraff with their pitiful squabbling. “You’re going to take Vestonne to meet with your little, reformist friends, and introduce him as a close friend of the family.” He continued finally.

Vestonne de Dzemael was his ‘brother-in-law’ although with his sister Claudette having passed so long ago, Pascalle hardly considered him family. Let alone a friend.

_ Poor Claudette _ . He thought to himself bitterly. They had been close in age, though Pascalle had hardly knew her in truth. By the time he had come back from his time as a Squire, she had already become Claudette de Dzemael. She had been sixteen when Atreux married her off.

“Vestonne will be able to gain Borel’s ear eventually. You just need to make sure your friends like him. Help him seem trustworthy to them… Then, we’ll be able to put a stop to all this… equality nonsense.”

Equality nonsense. He wanted to scoff in his Father’s face, but then, he’d always prided himself on his self-restraint.

“People died for what you’re calling nonsense, Father.”

“Fools died.” His Father snapped quickly. Turning his sharp blue-eyes back towards Pascalle. “And what have I told you about mourning the dead? It gets you nowhere, they can give you nothing.” His Father, whose pride did not encompass the concept of self-control, did scoff, openly at his son. “Sentimental idiot. You will introduce Vestonne-”

“No.” Pascalle began to stand. “I don’t think I will.”

“I am not  _ asking _ you to do it, Pascalle. This is not a request. You will introduce Vestonne to your friends, and you will help him gain their faith.”

“The answer is no.”

His Father’s face was a thundercloud.

“Haven’t you learned yet, what can happen when you disobey me?”

“I have.”

“Then, on your next sun off, you will take Vestonne  _ to _ your friends–”

“People die when I disobey you. But that doesn’t matter. We’ve both got plenty of blood on our hands now.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not bringing up that little lowborn bitch, again are you?” His eyes were like lightning bolts, poised to strike.

“Not just her. Last time I disobeyed you the casualties were much higher than just Mireille.”

“Last time you disobeyed me?” His voice was the dangerous hiss of the wind as it builds to carry the storm to your door.

“How else do you think Reformation forces knew about our men’s part in the plot of the True Brothers of the Faith and the other loyalists?””

“I told you not to be smart, boy…” Atreux growled, rising to his feet, “As if you’ve ever been in the position to have the ear of the Captain of the Temple Knights.” Leaning across the desk toward his son. “If you were of that much use to me, I wouldn’t need to be using Vestonne. Now. Lie to me again. I **dare** you.”

But Pascalle was taller than his Father now. He wasn’t a boy.

“I made sure they knew every single loyalists face.” He didn’t smile when he said it. In fact, for just a moment his face was the same impassive mask of stone his Father’s had been when they stood in the Foyer. It wasn’t even that he wanted to smile. It was just that he didn’t want his Father to see him feel  _ anything _ . Especially not grief. He might mistake it for remorse at defying that paternal order. And that wasn’t what it was. It was remorse for the men he marked to die. A plaguing uncertainty about whether sacrificing the few ever really could be for the greater good.

“ _ Pascalle _ .” His Father hissed.

But he was already walking out the study’s door.

He didn’t have to see his Father again until the evening meal. There was a tense air that hung over them as they ate. Well, save for Anais. She was too thrilled with the new barrettes Pascalle had bought for her.

“Pascalle, pass the salt.” Atreux said from the head of the table.

He put his knife and fork down gently across his plate.

“No, I don’t think I will.” He didn’t have to look at his Father to feel the boiling anger of his gaze rolling down the table toward him. His lips almost twitched into a smirk.  _ Almost _ . Then he turned to his Mother, looking at the shock on her face, and repressed the urge, continuing quickly before his Father could speak again. “I just realised; I’m going to be late for a meeting with the Captain about the next duty roster.” He rose from his seat, lying as he placed a kiss on her cheek, and then Anais. “I’m sure you’ll be to bed by the time it’s finished. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

It didn’t matter if he didn’t have anywhere else to be. The cold streets of the city were preferable to this house. Pascalle  _ loathed _ the cold. But he loathed his Father  _ more _ .

\----


	2. Chapter 2

##  **Chapter 2**

**_The Forgotten Knight; Ishgard_ **

Nasrinne gave a long and whimpering groan.

“Yggy.  _ Please _ .”

“Honestly, Nasrinne. Anyone would think you were seventeen, not twenty-seven. Now if you  _ must _ wear pants into the city then you have to wear it.”

“I don’t have any dresses anymore.”

“You can borrow one of mine.”

“Yggy practically all your dresses are yellow. I look awful in yellow.  _ Please _ .” She whined again.

“I don’t care.I won’t have you walking around these streets not looking like a  _ lady _ befitting of your  _ standing _ .” Ygrinne held out the stiff curve of brocaded lace. “If you don’t want to wear yellow, then… Put. On. The. Ruff.”

“This is why Jhulayne is my favourite sibling.” She said to her sister with a petulant scowl as she tugged the stupid accessory from her.

“Well, Nas, you know, right now, he’s my favourite sibling too.” She teased; her dancing green eyes practically a mirror for their brother’s. “ _ He _ always dresses appropriately. He’d be siding with me if he was here.”

“ _ Only _ to torture me, Yggy.”

Ygrinne smirked as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and watched her little sister fasten the ruff around her neck begrudgingly. In such very rare moments when Ygrinne’s lips turned upwards this way; and despite the obvious differences in complexion and colouring. In these very rare moments, the resemblance between the two sisters was striking.

“Now.” Ygrinne said, reaching forward and fixing the ruff tenderly. “You look beautiful.”

Nasrinne gave a crooked smile, sighing to herself.

“Well. I feel like an idiot. But can I at least  _ go _ now.”

“You can. I permit it.” Ygrinne replied, squeezing her sister’s shoulders and then waving her off with her hands. “Go, go. But  _ don’t _ be out too late. I don’t want to have to defend my little sister against any scandals.”

“Oh, please.” Nasrinne rolled her eyes, “What on earth will keep me out late, Ygrinne. I don’t even know anyone in the city besides you.” She headed toward the door, “And we both know I’m like starlight cake to all these nobles. Well past the marriageable material expiration date.”

“A sister can dream, Nasrinne.” Ygrinne sighed, “So go on, have a nice night and just  _ let _ me dream.”

“See you later.” Nasrinne laughed, shaking her head as she stepped out into the fresh breath of the lightly falling snow. The door to the Vernisse family’s townhouse apartment swung closed behind her. With a thud that sounded a little like freedom.

She loved her sister, she really did. But Nasrinne hated having to spend all her days sitting up straight and looking at needlework and listening to talk about  _ babies _ . That was perhaps the most difficult for a twenty-seven-year old Elezen who had never been kissed. Not because she was still hung up on having never been kissed, no. She had gotten over that at least two years ago, she was certain. It was more because it just seemed like a conversation she really was going to have nothing to contribute to. Ever.

But, with luck, there would be someone interesting at the local dive that her sister had expressly suggested she avoid.  _ The Forgotten Knight _ . It was popular with some less than savory types. 

Ygrinne already knew all her cautionary words were falling on deaf ears. There really wasn’t anything too sordid about the place. Still, Ishgardian nobles were very boring people who liked to pointlessly gossip. But, Nasrinne hardly expected to run into anyone in Foundation who really recognised her. Let alone a  _ noble _ .

Plus, when she arrived, the Knight was practically deserted.

_ How dull _ . She thought to herself as she ordered an ale. She picked a table close to the stairwell that led up from the downstairs bar, but still within the funnel of warmth the hearth was giving off.

She had finished her drink, and the barmaid had cleared the tankard. She was debating the wisdom of ordering another, when the doors to the upstairs entrance swung open. A gust of frigid wind swept inside, along with the tavern’s new arrival.

She cast her eyes upwards, toward the balcony. It was one of the city guard. She could tell by the crest on the chestplate of the gleaming armour. The knight struck an impressive figure. Almost like a couerl atop a mountain peak, surveying his domain. She watched as he removed his helmet and gave a sudden, although mostly inaudible gasp.

_ She knew that face _ .

Pascalle de Dubois. He was the first born of his house. She’d never met him,  _ officially _ , but between Ygrinne and her Mother she’d been forced to memorise the names of just about every potential bachelor in all the Highlands. (Before the Calamity, anyway. Thankfully, those conversations had died down this epoch.) Still, she knew who Pascalle de Dubois was. She bit her lip, pondering if she should make an introduction on her own, or if such things would be seen as too bold. Not to mention, the young Lord Dubois might be married by now. Nasrinne had only ever seen him on one other occasion. A ball, here in Foundation, that her sister had arranged for her to perform at. Although she had only seen his face the once, but he had the sort of face that one didn’t forget. Princely and handsome, and entirely outside of her social standing, she reminded herself.

Pascalle, for his part, had just finished the end of yet another long, quiet Watersday. He’d been assigned watch of the Pillars bridge. The weather was abysmal outside, which was as to be expected of course, and little of note had occurred. A few new faces asking for directions, moving on a few beggars (with their pockets a little fuller so long as the Captain wasn’t watching.) He was always happy to give some coin to the needy, life wasn’t easy for most within the cold walls of Foundation, unlike himself. The last thing he wanted to do was make life harder for his fellow Ishgardians. Perhaps also, his heart felt lighter redistributing the fruits of his Father’s greed to the people who suffered for it. He had no wish to rush home, despite the sluggishness of his limbs and his frozen extremities. So of course, he went to his usual haunt. The Forgotten Knight. It was quiet as he strolled through the doors, which while not the end of the world, was a little disappointing. One of the reasons he came to the Knight was the adventurers. He liked to hear the tales they told about faraway lands and their fantastic exploits. (Though he believed most to embellish a little, especially after a few ales.) They allowed him to imagine what it might be like if he were free from the shackles of these cold walls.

Empty as the place was, it was hard not to catch the gaze upon him. He turned toward it, locking eyes with a somewhat familiar face.

For a moment he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he knew her from. Then it came to him, Jhulayne’s youngest sister. Jhulayne de Filois had been a fellow knight. He was perhaps two or three years older than Pascalle. He’d been something of a mentor to him during his time as a squire. And Pascalle would have considered him a friend today, but for his heroic and untimely demise during the aftermath of the calamity. Memories of the young knight flashed quickly about his head. The sound of Jhulayne’s always good-humoured laugh. The way he pouted slightly whenever you beat him at chess. He felt his eyes sting briefly, but he let the thoughts pass. Nasrinne. He remembered her name. Jhulayne often spoke fondly of his family, especially his youngest sister. (It was a sentiment Pascalle could understand, thanks to Anais.) He raised his hand to greet her as he made his way down the stairs.

Nasrinne checked behind her to be sure some fellow knight wasn’t coming up the stairs at her back.  _ Had he really noticed her gaze on him? Surely that wave was meant for someone else. _ But, no. There was no one. She locked eyes with him again, raising her hand in that taut, inflexible way that her Mother and Ygrinne had her practice for hours and hours from the time she was seven, right up until her seventeenth name day.

“Halone’s blessings upon you, Lady Nasrinne.” Pascalle said as he bowed to her. The  _ correct _ greeting when meeting a Lady of a Noble House of Ishgard. He often wished to throw away these strict Ishgardian pleasantries and just be himself. But, as he knew from the past, it would bring him no end of troubles if he did.

And she had only just been coming to grips with the fact that he seemed to recognize her.  _ Oh gods. _ She thought. _ He bowed?  _ Highland boys didn’t bow for  _ Ser Nasrinne _ . In fact, they didn’t even call her Lady. They called her Ser. Because Highland boys thought Nasrinne was the least feminine Highland girl in all of Coerthas. She returned the courtesy, bending at the waist. Grateful for the curtain of her dark hair as it swept across her face, before he saw the flustered look in her eyes.

“And her blessings be upon you, Ser Pascalle.” She said to him with a small smile. ( _ Don’t smile too wide _ . She could hear Ygrinne’s voice in the back of her mind.) “Come to find some respite from your duties by the hearth? Or have they brought you in from the cold for a change?” Nasrinne had done more than her fair share of shifts on the walls of Whitebrim and Dragonhead since the Calamity had struck Coerthas. The truth was, there was no where she would rather go afterward than the barrack’s mess for a mug of mulled wine or dark ale.

“After a sun spent in this bitter chill there isn’t a better place in Foundation to spend my pay!” He laughed; he had not seen Nasrinne since they were still children really. Not that he could really remember the exact occasion they’d met. It would have been at least a decade ago. In all honesty though, he hadn’t remembered her being so appealing to the eye. But then, he only had eyes for Mirielle back then. 

She was shorter than most Elezen, with a rounder face. But this did nothing to dispel how enchanting her deep, indigo eyes were, or how sweetly her lips curled upward when she smiled.

“I don’t mean to presume, but it is still Lady Filois?” he asked her, as innocently as possible. Not even an ale in his hand and his cheeks we’re already feeling a little flush. Maybe it was just the cold, he told himself as he watched her, tentatively awaiting the reply.

“You don’t presume, Ser Pascalle. It is still Lady Filois.” She tucked her hair behind her ear again, looking down toward the table. “I must admit, I’m a little surprised you know my name.”

This was a lie. She was shaken to the core by the knowledge that he knew her name. Well that, coupled with the sound of his laughter which had been rich, and warm like the hearth’s glow behind him. Thankfully, Nasrinne was not a particularly bad liar. She already knew the truth behind her next words. She could still recall vividly the ball where Ygrinne had first pointed the young Lord Dubois out to her for a multitude of reasons. It had been her first visit to Foundation, when she was just in her seventeenth summer, (and summer had still been a season that visited Coerthas.) She had been forced to meet all manner of young nobles. But she had never had the opportunity to be introduced to Pascalle. She had only seen him, and her sister had wisely noticed her seeing him and told her that there were rumours the young de Dubois was engaged.

Still she phrased her next words as if they were just a chance possibility, rather than a fact.

“Mayhaps you attended one of the functions my sister has for-” She caught herself, correcting her misstep before she made it completely. “…has bade me give a performance at?” It wouldn’t do to have people thinking she didn’t enjoy being invited to balls and dinner parties. That would no doubt upset her parents, and if such a rumour made its way to Ygrinne, she’d never hear the end of it. Rather than dwell on the fact that she was unmarried and swiftly approaching her thirtieth year, she decided to turn the awkward question back on Pascalle. It seemed to her mind, only fair. (It was this mind of hers, Yggy kept telling her, that was keeping her unmarried.)

“But tell me, is there a Lady Dubois at home, eagerly awaiting your return this eve?” Besides, no doubt Pascalle was already happily married.

“Ah. No. There is no Lady Dubois.” He paused, before murmuring, almost beneath his breath. “Though not from lack of my parent’s unfluctuating persistence.” A hint of rouge crept across his cheeks.

It was perhaps the most charmingly vulnerable thing Nasrinne had ever seen a nobleman who was not related to her by blood do in her presence.

“I knew your brother Jhualyne, rest his soul.” Pascalle continued quickly changing the subject. “We served together when I was still a squire. It pained me greatly to hear the news of his passing. My condolences to you and you’re your family… I apologise it’s taken me so long to pay the proper respects. I had no idea you were in Foundation, so that’s why I have never come to call…”

“You knew Jhulayne?” She interjected, cutting his awkward apology off midway, looking at him with her eyes shining so delicately. They were like the night sky, glimmering softly.

“Yes.” He replied softly. “He spoke of his family often, and very fondly. Especially you.” He offered her a sympathetic smile. “Though, perhaps wisely, he didn’t speak of what a radiant young woman you’d grown into.”  _ Did he really just say that? _ It had sort of, slipped out. Pascalle found it difficult to meet her gaze after, so he looked over to the bar instead. “We should drink a toast to him. Gibrillont! A round of ales thanks!”

“ _ Oh. _ ” Nasrinne had interjected because she had been eager to pass him the good news of her brother’s surprising and safe return from the dead. But then he followed it with the unexpected kindness of his compliment and all of the carefully considered words she had planned on using vanished as she felt a flush of embarrassment wash over her. 

“Yes. Well. He’s alive now. That is to say, he’s not dead anymore. That is, he never was dead…”  _ Nasrinne. You spectacular fool. _ She lamented to herself inwardly as she took a breath. Clearing her throat daintily behind her hand.

“What, I mean to say, if you’ll excuse my difficulty relaying such happy news, is that Jhulayne escaped the tragedy at Gargoyle Crossing. He made it through the mountain passes to Gridania. I have only recently travelled there to aid him on his return to Ishgard proper. He is at Whitebrim, with my Father.” Gibrillont arrived with the ales then. (A welcome distraction.)

“Many thanks.” She said to the barkeep smiling as she took the tankard. “So, I suppose we can toast a miracle instead.”

Pascale looked elated as he took his own ale from Gibrillont (after Nasrinne had hers in hand, of course.) 

“My heart sings at the news he yet lives! This is cause for celebration if there ever was one!” The truth was he hadn’t really imagined he’d receive news of any magnitude after such a mundane sun. But  _ this _ news elicited joy in him. He had deeply mourned the loss of his former mentor. It had been a blow when he had needed it the least.

“Yes,” Nasrinne’s couldn’t really keep herself from smiling as she watched the bright grin sweep across his face. Lighting up his ice-blue eyes like the sun in a winter’s sky. “Although, he did not escape his trials surviving after the Calamity unscathed.” But it was a somewhat crooked smile. It was difficult to explain what had happened to Jhulayne and smile. “He’s lost his sword hand you see, and the elements have taken their toll on him…” Now the smile had vanished, and she turned her gaze to the ale. “Anyway, Father sent me to Gridania to meet with him and help him make the return journey to Coerthas. So, he’s back home now.” Of course, by home she meant Whitebrim. She did not mean the home that she and Jhulayne had grown up in. That home was gone. Neither of them would ever see it again.

She said it so casually; as if it were not something marvellous to have done. As if Foundation had opened its gates years ago, and not months before. It stirred another feeling within him.

“Forgive me for asking so bluntly. You have travelled to Gridania? Recently? That’s where Jhulayne has been?”

He was shocked. He had always thought most families like his, opposed to close relations with those outside of Ishgard’s borders. And the fact that Nasrinne had been allowed to travel as far as Gridania.  _ And alone, as an unmarried woman _ ? It was a twinge of jealousy, but he quickly shook it from his mind – After all if she could visit Gridania, maybe he could?

“Yes. It was a few months past now.” She told him. “And no, not at all. You needn’t apologise. Forgive me, Ser Pascalle. It was careless of me not to realise you would know my brother. You are not far apart in age, correct? I should have called you over myself to share this news with you the moment you stepped in the door,” She looked up at him again, “You should pay him a visit should you find the time to spare. His spirit is a bit dampened now he can no longer assist alongside those like yourself, who serve Ishgard so loyally… It would no doubt lift them to see an old comrade.”

Her words were salt in a wound she didn’t even know existed.  _ Loyal? _ Pascalle was not so certain he could call himself loyal anymore.

“Of course,” He replied, glancing off to the side toward the hearth, unable to meet her gaze after the underserved compliment. “I will visit as soon as my post allows it.” Nasrinne could have no idea why those words conjured up such a sour guilt in him. He gave a sigh, mostly to himself, and then looked back towards her.

“I’m sorry.” There was something about the way the apology fell so quickly from her lips. As if she had grown so accustomed to apologising that it happened automatically now. By way of reflex. “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous. Your duties to the city would keep you busy. I am certain you will see him when you have time.” She was good at apologising, she knew exactly what one should say to shift all the blame for an assumed offense squarely onto her own shoulders. 

Pascalle knew how to do that too. Because he’d delivered many apologies just as automatically. As if one is apologising not because they’ve really done anything wrong. More like an apology for simply existing, simply breathing. 

“No. Please.” He said softly, holding up his hand, “Don’t think yourself presumptuous. I am tempted to leave to see Jhulayne right now... Nothing would give me greater joy than escaping this cold grey prison, even for a moment.”

He smiled at her as he said it. But there was something about the expression in his eyes, there was a depth to it. A sort of sadness, or a longing perhaps. She wondered to herself, what sort of thoughts could possibly bring about such an expression.

“I should be happy to take you to visit him, even tonight if you wished.” Nasrinne found herself saying it as she thought it, before she’d even realised she was speaking aloud. “ “Jhulayne I mean…” She added hastily as she reached up and began to fiddle, absently, with a lock of her hair, “Whitebrim is not far by chocobo back, and there is more than enough rooms for you to make use of to rest before returning in the morning.”  _ What was she even saying? And why? _ She was rambling. Her silent questions were more rhetorical, serving as reprimands rather than serious lines of inquiry. “Besides, Surely, even knights are entitled to a sun off, Ser Pascalle? What with the recent peace finally beginning to settle over us and all?” She gave a little shrug, quickly raising her mug to her mouth to stop it from running away with itself any more than it already had. 

Pascalle felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he looked at her, looking at him with that earnest gaze, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded. Was the ale stronger than usual? He wondered to himself.

“Well… I.. have never really. I mean...” He was stuttering over his words.

_Pull yourself together,_ _Pascalle_ , he hissed to himself silently in his mind. The truth was, leaving for Whitebrim now... he _could_ make it back without abandoning his post tomorrow.

"I would love to go see Jhulayne, my heart fills with joy at the thought."  _ And the luck to travel with such a beautiful companion? _ A very small voice added from somewhere near the back of his mind. He looked back down to his near-empty ale. “Still… I couldn’t trouble you so.” She had already come all the way into the city, she was just being polite. Of course she didn’t want to take him back to Whitebrim tonight. He fixed a smile on his face, steering the conversation in a different direction. "Jhuls boasted many times how beautiful a voice his sister had. I pray I have a chance to see you perform!" 

Nasrinne watched him as he stumbled over his words, a breath of laughter coming to her unbidden.

“Never really what? Travelled by chocobo back? Ridden as far as Whitebrim?” It felt strangely satisfying to watch someone stumble over their words like this. Now she could understand why her brother poked fun at her so. Perhaps that’s what gave her this sudden confidence?

“You could pray no longer, Ser Pascalle. If you ride with me for Whitebrim. I promise, you will have heard a ballad or two before you return to Judgement’s Gates.” Her dark, indigo eyes met his for a moment in what could have almost been called a challenging gaze… If she hadn’t pulled away from it quite so quickly. As if realising suddenly it was not her brother, or one of the soldiers at Whitebrim she was talking to. The young Lord Dubois was practically a stranger.

“My apologies, again.” She said it softly, “You must think me such an impudent country girl.”

_ Of course, he does. Because you act like one. _ She chided herself. But to her surprise, when she finally finished her own rambling, the young knight was laughing.

Pascalle couldn't help but laugh. It was a vivacious –  _ real  _ – laugh. Even though the joke was at his expense. It was the first laugh he could remember sharing with another Elezen in a long time.

“Please, stop apologising, Lady Nasrinne. You’ve done nothing to offend me.” His lips twisted into a somewhat wry smile, “I must say, your demeanour is … a refreshing change in the city.” He found himself leaning closer toward her, lowering his voice to an almost whisper, close by her ear. “ _ Anyway _ , who doesn’t like a little bit of teasing now and again.”

His breath was hot against the tapered tip of her ear, and Nasrinne had to perform a masterful act of self-restraint to keep from blushing furiously. Then he rose to his full height once more, looking into her eyes for what felt like minutes, but really could only have been a few seconds at most. 

“I think I need a refreshing change.” He said finally, pulling away from her gaze. “If it truly is no trouble for you to change your plans… then what excuses have I? Take me to see Jhulayne.” Forget guard duty, forget his Father. He wanted to see his friend thought lost to him. All the rest be damned.

_ Really? _ Nasrinne very nearly uttered the word aloud. So intense was its disbelieving hiss, echoing in her ears. None of this was what she had expected. How had she let herself stumble into this waking nightmare? What was she doing? Ser Pascalle was handsome. And charming. And at least three social standings above her. These were all things that made Nasrinne terribly nervous and terribly stupid. She had already marked the beat of her heart throughout their entire conversation. She had noticed it’s rising timed itself perfectly with the precise moment that his lips curved upwards into a smile. Curse her impertinent tongue and the things it did when she had the attention of a charming, handsome man.

“Splendid!” Was what she said aloud, (thankfully.) “I shall fetch Softbeak from my sister’s stables.” She placed her near-empty tankard down on the table. “Shall I meet you at the Gates?” She asked, lofting a slender, ebon brow.

“Softbeak?” Pascalle found himself asking before realising, she must mean her chocobo. “Yes. Of course, that should give me enough time to find something a bit more appropriate to wear.” he motioned to himself, still wearing his full plate, muddied from hours standing out in the snow and grime in the street. “I’ll bring some wine.” He added, “I’ve a bottle of Lohmani Rosso; which, if memory serves me,” he tapped his left temple with his index finger before finishing his sentence, “was a favorite of his.” He felt a certain giddiness about himself. It took him a moment to realise what it was. He had not felt this eager to do something, anything, in a long, long time. 

\----


	3. Chapter 3

##  **Chapter 3**

**_Whitebrim; Coerthas_ **

It was not a long ride from Foundation to Whitebrim Front. Though it would be difficult to call it a pleasant ride. (What with the freezing wind and smatterings of snowfall?) Luckily,  _ Softbeak _ barely remembered a world that wasn’t blanketed in white and covered in ice. Her claws still pounded the frigid ground as easily as if it were the soft highland grass that it had once been. Nasrinne had named her Softbeak because she had a sweet nature. The last chocobo that the Filois had ever hatched. She had swaddled the chick, covered in its buttery fuzz of down, all the way from Gargoyle Crossing to here. The chocobo gave a cheerful trill as they approached. The walls of the fortress cast the long evening shadows across the road that led up to the gates. 

“ _ Ahoy, Ser Nasrinne! _ ” A voice called out from a post by the wall as they reached the view of the torchlight. Nasrinne suppressed the strong urge to groan as she heard it. “We did not expect you back this eve!” The guard continued as they pulled their chocobos to a stop next to him. 

“Well, Ser Auguste. That should teach you something about expecting things.” She quipped.

Auguste seemed to notice Pascalle then for the first time, or rather, notice that he didn’t  _ know _ who he was. This was because Pascalle’s steed,  _ Andante _ , looked very little like the ones kept within the keep’s walls. His feathers were a bright, royal blue that offset the gleaming orange of his beak, boldly. The chocobo carried himself with the same bold pride as his plumage. He was an ex-racing chocobo, the knight had said. A gift. Although he hadn’t said from whom. 

“And a good eve to you, my Lord. Welcome to Whitebrim.” Auguste said with sudden reserve and a stiff bow.

In truth, he needn’t have bothered with such formalities. Pascalle had little love for it himself. “ _ Uh. _ Shall I, stable the birds?” He looked up at Nasrinne from beneath his visor with such uncertainty in his eyes, reaching for Andante’s reins first. 

“Wait–” Pascalle said. This was a poor decision, though Auguste could never have known it. The moment his hand drew close to the bird it reared its head back. There was a blur of blue and orange, then it brought its beak down to bear on Auguste’s chainmail glove. 

Auguste gave a yelp of surprise, yanking his hand back with the rest of his body as he all but leapt away from the bird. Nasrinne did her best to stifle a laugh, watching as Pascalle swung from his saddle, sweeping between his steed and the guardsman with a stream of apologies for him;  _ I’m so sorry, Ser Auguste, please forgive me he can be twitchy around strangers… _ and reprimands for the bird;  _ Andante, I thought I told you to be kind? _

“We’ll stable them, Auguste.” She said, sliding herself from her own saddle to land lightly in the snow. 

“The hand is fine my lord.” Auguste was assuring Pascalle. “Nothing stronger than Ishgardian steel after all… Stables are just yonder…” 

“I’ll show you.” Nasrinne smiled, gesturing for him to follow. The smell of hay was rich, and earthy. She loved it inside the stables, it reminded her of her childhood. The hay came from Dravania. Yggy’s husband imported it for the city. 

“Also… well…” Pascalle said as he looped the leather reins about one of the posts. “I should apologise, I’m sorry if I’ve been addressing you wrong. I didn’t know you were a knight… although of course, there are women knights, that’s  _ not unusual _ .” He cleared his throat. “Jhulayne just never mentioned it to me…” 

“Oh, well. It’s alright because I’m not a knight.” She shook her head, giving Softbeak a little scratch along her neck as she said it. “That’s just… well I man the walls a lot you see. It’s awfully silly for all the men to call me  _ Lady Nasrinne _ .” She shrugged, smiling as she delivered the half-truth about how she earned her nickname. “Jhulayne will be in our family’s quarters I expect. Have you ever been here before?” She changed the subject skilfully. Avoiding looking him in the eye, instead letting her gaze roll naturally from the chocobos and back out the stable doors. 

“No. I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting Whitebrim before. Jhulayne never mentioned it either, I wasn’t aware your family had holdings so close to the city.” 

Nasrinne gave a dry laugh, as she led them back out into the courtyard. 

“My family don’t own anything in Whitebrim. All of our lands are gone now, somewhere under yalms of ice and snow. We came here with all the other refugees. We’re just blessed by Halone to have served under House Fortemps for so many years that they found a space for us where they could.” 

“I see…” Pascalle nodded, though in truth he felt slightly abashed after his comments. He realised how sheltered it was in the city from the realities the calamity had brought forth to his fellow Elezen. 

“Anyway. I imagine it used to be beautiful here, before all the snow.” She said softly, looking back toward him with a slightly careworn smile tugging at her lips.

Pascalle couldn’t help but think to himself, that it was a beautiful smile. That the tone of it matched the touch of wistfulness in her words. He caught himself thinking this and couldn’t help but feel even  _ more _ abashed then.

“Our apartment is just over there, up those stairs.” She told him, pulling him, mercifully, back out of his own head. Directing him to a short set of snow-covered steps near the back walls of the keep. 

They led up to a small alcove with a wooden door set into it. She slid a well-worn brass key into the lock and gave it a sharp turn. It made a slight grating sound, but it did click in the end.    
“I don’t think the locks were made for so much ice.” She gave a shrug and swung the door inward. “Please.” She smiled, gesturing for him to enter first. This was mostly so she could lock the back door behind her. (She wasn’t really supposed to use it, but she always did.)

It was far warmer inside the apartments de Filois. A few well-placed oil-lamps gave the hallway a cosy glow. A faded red runner carpet ran up the short length of passage, stopping when it came to another door at the other end. There was also a stairwell leading up to their left.

“Jhuls will be upstairs reading, if I’m not mistaken. Actually, you can see the city from the parlour window, it’s quite pretty at night.” 

“You’ll have to show me, I can’t resist a pretty view.” He said as she turned around to face him, “It shan’t be too hard for us to sneak up on your brother if he’s nose-deep in a book like he used to be.” He grinned. 

The door to the parlour upstairs was closed, but the cheerful glow of fire-light filtered out through the crack beneath. Nasrinne gestured for him to wait a moment, placing a slender finger across her lips.    
“Jhulayne?” She called as she turned the handle and stepped inside, “Are you still up reading?” Leaving it just slightly ajar so Pascalle could hear her. 

“What? Is that my sweet little bird? Back from the city already?” A familiar voice filtered out into the hall. “ _ Oh. Look at you _ .” Jhulayne teased his sister. “Did Yggy make you wear that?” 

“What do you think, brother dearest?” Came the wholly sarcastic response, to which Jhulayne laughed, and Pascalle had to do his best not to laugh too. He had never had the pleasure of listening to the Filois siblings’ banter before.

“Was she mean to you?” Jhulayne continued to tease, “Shall I have words with her about making you wear a ruff?”

Now Nasrinne was laughing. Pascalle watched as she shook her head, hardly able to keep the cocky smile from her face a moment longer.

“Oh, you should most definitely have words with her about it. But that isn’t why I am here I brought you a surprise.” She said. 

That of course, was his cue. 

“A surprise? What another book to read?” Jhulayne was busy scoffing at her. 

Pascalle stepped through the door with a grin. 

“Gaze at what your winsome sister discovered in at the Forgotten Knight.” There was his old friend, slung into the high back chair by the hearth with a book in his lap. Jhulayne looked drained, not like the eager, fresh faced knight he once knew. You wouldn’t know by the way he spoke with Nasrinne. “Isn’t this what you were doing when I left you last? You’re probably only halfway through that book after all these years!” 

“Paz?!” Jhulayne exclaimed in disbelief, rising from his chair with more vigor than his appearance would suggest. The book in his lap quite forgotten. It would have fallen to the carpet on the floor, if Nasrinne hadn’t caught it with the toe of her boot as she stepped to the side, letting him rush past her. She smirked to herself, just a little, as she balanced it there for a half-breath before stooping to pick it up. There was no one to notice her smug satisfaction presently. Jhulayne was already greeting his friend in a warm embrace.

“By the Fury, look how tall you’ve gotten?” He said, raising his left hand up above his head to take the measure of the distance in their height. “I can’t believe it.” He shook his head laughing, “What in Halone’s name are you doing with my sister? Do you know each other?” He cast a glance back over his shoulder towards her, “You didn’t tell me you knew Paz!”

“Because I didn’t. I just met him tonight.” Nasrinne set the book down on the side table by her brother’s chair. But he wasn’t listening to her..

“Pull up a chair, Gods it’s been what? Eight? Nine years?” He gestured for Pascalle to come and sit with him by the hearth in one of the wingback chairs set around it. “You must be married by now and everything. How’s Mirielle? You’ll have to tell me everything you’ve been up to while I’ve been stuck on the other side of Abalathia’s Spine!” 

“Eight years.” Pascalle said, answering the first question and then deftly avoiding the rest as he turned to fuss with the satchel he had brought. It meant neither sister, nor brother saw the wince upon his face when the name was uttered. “Which means there is much cause to celebrate. And that is why I stopped by the house for this!” He produced a large amber, wax sealed bottle from his bag. It looked expensive, and old. The label yellowed with age, its corners tattered. “Lohmani Rosso, I believe this was a favourite of yours, no?” He held the bottle out to Jhulayne.

“Eight years!” Jhulayne chuckled, still in a daze of semi-disbelief. “Oh, the old Rosso! I can’t believe you remember!” He took the neck of the bottle with his hand and leaned it against the inside of his right forearm, careful to keep it close to his elbow. He’d learned this was the surest way to keep from bumbling and dropping things many moons ago. He managed quite well,  _ most _ of the time.

“Did I order that many glasses of it?” He looked back up toward his old friend with the same merry twinkle in his green eyes that they had held in their youth. Then his grip upon the neck of the bottle slipped, just a fraction. That was all it took really. It rolled down along the length of his arm as the fingers of his left hand fumbled, urgently, to grab hold of it.

Nasrinne was at his side faster than you could have blinked. Stopping the bottle and catching his left hand in her right, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Let me take that.” She said it tenderly, “I’ll go get some glasses. Please, Lord Dubois, if you’ll excuse me a moment.”

Jhulayne gave his sister a grim smile, turning the expression back to Pascalle.

“Bloody trouble with spending your whole life relying on one hand.” He said, “It’s like being a damned child all over again learning to use the other one.” He shook his head, “Anyway, it matters not. We’re both alive? Who would have thought after all the troubles that I’d see you with my sister? I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“We didn’t.” It was hard to keep the smirk from his lips as he watched Jhulayne’s face as he suddenly recalled Nasrinne saying this moments before. “We just met for the first time a few hours past, at the Forgotten Knight.”

Pascalle was a year or two younger than him, but it had often felt the other way around for Jhulayne. After all, it was Pas who had landed the lucky blow and slayed the dragon, Pas who had caught the eye of the prettiest girls.

“The Knight? Oh  _ Halone _ , wait till Yggy hears…  _ hold on _ . What were you doing at the Knight? Doesn’t Mirelle want her prince charming home by sunset for dinner?” Mirielle had perhaps been the prettiest of all. Though she hadn’t been highborn. Still rich though, her family were merchants, not unlike Ygrinne’s husband really. Although the Vernisse family had been folded beneath House Fortemps when his Great Grandfather had been alive. The same time the Filois family had been granted their lands and titles. “Has she got any single friends, Pas, I could use a wife like that…'' He trailed off, watching the flicker of pain across the younger knight’s face as they both sat down in the pair of chairs closest to the hearth.

Pascalle didn’t feel his friend undeserving of an answer to  _ any _ question. Not after so long. How was he to know what had happened, to his lost beloved? Besides. Nasrinne was gone now, it wouldn’t feel quite so awkward to try and explain it.

“Mirielle has passed from this plane.” He said it simply, although even simple words could carry weight.

“Halone’s ruth, Pascalle, I had no idea. I’m… I’m so sorry...” Jhulayne said, his eyes filling with sympathy.

“Don’t be, Jhuls.” He replied softly. “It happened years ago now. You couldn’t have known.” Mirielle had died shortly before the calamity had struck. “I have prayed to Halone for peace and courage to face the suns. And I have.” He gave a sort of haphazard shrug.

“What happened? I mean… was it dragons? The snows?”

“She fell ill. There was nothing the chirurgeons could do.” Then shook his head with a sigh, “Anyway, I will always have happy memories to cherish in my heart. But that is my past now, and now is no time for sorrowful lamentations. We should be celebrating our reunion, it’s what she would have wanted.”

“As always, you are wise beyond your years, Paz. So long as we draw breath it does the dead no honour to linger on what’s been lost to us.” He was looking toward his missing hand as he spoke. “You and I are here, reunited by merry circumstances, and the clever machinations of my little sister. And that  _ is _ cause for celebration. We’ll drink to it when Nas returns with the wine, and to happy memories with Mirielle too.”

“A grand idea. Now, why don’t you tell me about the other side of Abalathia’s Spine while we wait?”

Meanwhile, in the kitchens at that very minute, Nasrinne was unsuccessfully trying to convince the servants that no one needed supper, while her Mother  _ insisted _ otherwise. She had one hand pressed against her furrowed brow, eyes closed, while the other fiddled with the ruff at her neck. She’d be damned if she was wearing it anymore.

“Who’s Jhulayne’s friend? Does Ygrinne know him? How do you know him?” Her Mother’s voice held a gasp at the end of it that rang out in harmony with Nasrinne’s tired sigh.

“Please. Mama.” She unfurled the thick lace from her neck and held it out toward her like some kind of white flag. “I don’t know if Ygrinne knows him. But he’s a _Temple_ _Knight_. Honestly. Mother. It’s _fine_. Can we not just let Jhulayne have a little bit of revelry without turning it into an entire production for the household?”

Now her Mother gave a heavy sigh. 

“What do you want me to do with this?” She asked her as she took the ruff from her daughter, looking disapprovingly at the sliver of her throat that was now visible.

“Wash it and give it back to Yggy?” She shrugged and picked up the silver tray, turning to leave.

“Nasrinne, you’re not going to be up all night drinking that wine with your brother and his friend, are you?”

“Of course not Mother.” Nasrinne summoned the most innocent expression she was in possession of as she glanced back over her shoulder, “I promised one toast and one song. Besides, you know I can’t stand playing at being a noble for long.”

“You  _ are _ a noble. It’s not playing. Playing is what you do with your harp and your flute!” Her Mother’s voice called out from behind the swinging door. Nasrinne waited until she heard it shut firmly in place. Then she shifted the tray to her right hand and undid the top two buttons of her stiff, brocade shirt as she walked up the hall. Gods, buttons and lace be damned. She cursed silently, hesitating a moment at the threshold of the doorway before opening it. Eavesdropping, just a little. She didn’t want to walk in at an awkward moment in their conversation. And perhaps, maybe, she wanted to hear if they were speaking about Mirielle. Not a lot, just a little bit.

_...Yes, Sun Seekers… _ She heard Jhulayne’s voice filter through the wood. They were not speaking about Mirielle. She placed her hand on the brass handle and pushed it inwards. Ser Pascalle was standing by the hearth, seeing that the coals didn’t smother themselves. A big stone building like this would soon turn into an ice box if the fires went out.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” She apologised, “Mother insisted refreshments be served as well.” She set the tray down carefully on the low, wooden table in the middle of the rug. “And it’s  _ Seekers of the Sun _ , brother.” She smiled at Pascalle impishly as she spoke her next words. “I bet he said the other tribe were  _ Moon Keepers _ too, instead of Keeper of the Moon. You’ll have to forgive, him. Jhulayne has a mind for strategy, not storytelling. No matter what  _ he _ thinks about the subject.”

“You wound me, little bird.” Jhulayne exclaimed with mock-sorrow as he pressed his hand to his chest.

“They do say the truth hurts.” She said it so sweetly as she smirked at him. “Shall I pour the wine?”

The bottle of Rhosso was emptied, and Jhulayne, unwilling to let his unexpected festive evening come to an end so quickly, bid Nasrinne go back downstairs to the cellar and fetch them something from the family stores. Of course, she obliged. The coals in the fire had burned lower, Pascalle tended to them while they waited for her return, throwing a glance over his shoulder toward the door.

It was the second time he had done it, Jhulayne followed his gaze.

“She is taking a bit long I suppose. Although, I’ve never seen my sister sit so long in a room with a noble who wasn’t bound to her by allegiance or blood.” He laughed,

“I enjoy her candor.” Pascalle said, clearing his throat. “Like you, she’s a charming conversationalist. Must be all that country air you had growing up.”

Jhulayne opened his mouth to tease Pascalle.  _ Shall I tell her you think she’s charming, Pas _ . He was about to say. But then, he stopped himself short. Recalling his words to his sister back at Fallgourd Float. Pas was not some cowardly twit like Lord Everet _ t _ de whatever his name was.

“She seems quite learned, I wondered if she spent time studying with any of the sharlayan cohort?”

“No. But Nas has got a truly gifted memory, and she reads more books than I do. And music. Always reading and writing music... You should call on her more often when she visits Ygrinne.” He said without a hint of slyness, even though everything about what he was doing at that moment was sly.

“Does she visit the Pillars often?”

But as if by divine intervention, the hinges of the door gave a tell-tale creak before Jhulayne could reply.

“I was just telling Pas what a brilliant memory you have, little bird.” He said as she shut the door behind her.

“Just because it’s better than yours doesn’t make it brilliant.” She said without missing a beat.

“You shouldn’t tease your older brother, so.” Jhulayne replied, “I might get Pas to ask you to give him the history of the Azure Dragoon.”

“Do you know a great deal about the Order of the Temple Dragoons, Lady Nasrinne?” Pascalle asked her with a smile, setting the iron poker back upon its stand to take the glass of wine she offered him.

“Oh yes, she learned  _ everything _ about them after she saw Estinien Wyrmblood in a jousting contest.”

“Jhulayne you shouldn’t tease the person handing you a glass of red wine.” Nasrinne said to her brother in a clipped tone.

“Did the Azure Dragoon deliver a grand performance?” Pascalle asked.

“Paz knows him you know.” Jhulayne told her, grinning as he took the wine.

“Oh, hardly. We’ve passed each other in the corridors.” He waved away the suggestion, earnestly.

“Nas was going to marry him, weren’t you Nas?”

“I think all eight-year old’s want to marry the boy who bests their older brother.”

Pascalle couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing.

“I see you were conveniently leaving out your own role in this story, Jhuls.” He said, before listening with rapt amusement as Nasrinne vividly recounted the encounter he had with the young Estinien at the spring tourney at twin pools. It was a deft twisting of his brotherly taunts against him. It was in truth, a perfectly placed insult. An old wound that could be prodded easily,  _ usually _ .

But not tonight. No. Tonight he was grinning at her as she told the tale of the crushing of all his boyhood dreams. Jhulayne had wanted to show off how sharp his sister was, how clever and uncompromising her wit could be. And how easily it slid off her tongue. No one could get the better of Nasrinne.

He had known Pascalle since they were both squires. He knew how tiresome and boring the other knight found most nobles. Pascalle hated all the propriety and facades of Ishgard. It had been part of why the two of them had gotten along so well even though most of the young lordlings in the city thought him a country bumpkin.

He watched the two of them closely over the rest of the evening. Watching the way Nasrinne fiddled with her hair and found an excuse to look away each time she caught the knight’s gaze. The way Pascalle leaned forward with his chin upon his hand, watching her spellbound while she played her small harp ( _ It’s a lyre, brother. _ ) And sang for them, completely unaware of his gaze upon her.

_ This shouldn’t be too hard _ . He thought to himself as he watched them with the faintest hint of a smirk. Of course, he hadn’t thought of it before, but now that he had thought of it, he was convinced. Pascalle and Nasrinne were a perfect match.

\----


	4. Chapter 4

##  **Chapter 4**

**_The Pillars; Ishgard_ **

Pascalle didn’t even care about his hangover the next day. Although, his headache did tell him he really shouldn’t have encouraged Jhulayne to open the third bottle of wine.

Still, his shift passed quickly, and even as he stepped into the family home, his mood was still high from the pleasant evening he’d spent with the Filois siblings the night before.

His Mother was in the sitting room when he arrived. Anais no doubt upstairs with the servants being dressed for the evening meal. 

“Pascalle! Where were you? You didn’t come home last night!” Patrice Dubois gasped the words softly, glancing over her shoulder as she said it, as if Atreux might appear at any moment and silence her.

“I’m sorry, Mother, I was at Whitebrim Front.” He was positively beaming as he apologised, “I was reunited with an old friend last night who was missing, thought lost after the calamity. A knight of one of the noble families who serve under House Fortemps.”

“Oh! Praise Halone, what wonderful news!”

“What is wonderful news?”

The smile that had graced his mother’s face disappeared, her hands falling into her lap again, fumbling around for her embroidery and needle. Atreux  _ had _ appeared.   
“Pascalle was just telling me he spent the night at Whitebrim last night…”

“What for?” Atreux turned his face toward his son, his eyes narrowed.

“I spent the evening with an old comrade recently returned from The Black Shroud.” Pascalle replied, “We had thought him lost, but by Halone’s grace he lives.”

“Who is he, Pascalle?” His mother asked in a whisper.

“Jhulayne de Filois. He’s something of a hero actually, he saved a great many lives at the time of the calamity.” Even his Father’s disapproving gaze couldn’t keep him from smiling as he spoke, “I ran into his sister and she took me to visit him.”

“His sister?” His Mother looked up at him again, the barest smile on her lips. But it was a real enough smile to meet her eyes.

“Yes. She’s a few years younger than him. Honestly, she’s got a beautiful voice Mother, maybe you’ve heard her perform at one of Lord Francel’s parties.”

“Filois..." His Mother hummed beneath her breath, “Do you mean the dark-haired girl who plays the harp? The shorter one?”

“ _ Don’ _ t get any ideas,  _ Patrice. _ ” Atreux hissed at his wife. “And both of you, wipe those stupid smiles from your faces. We’re not so desperate we’re going to marry him off to some chocobo pauper.”

The Dubois were much wealthier than the Filois, this was even though Jhulayne and Nasrinne hailed from a far older noble house than his own.

Still, the Dubois held lands in the city, and the Filois didn’t own lands anywhere anymore. “You’ll stay away from the Filois if you know what’s good for you. That gil-digging harlot. This is what I keep saying about the refugee problem in Foundation and the Brume. They’re like leeches.”

“No one is marrying me off. To anyone.” Pascalle muttered, ignoring the rest of the diatribe as he turned to leave. “Excuse me, Mother. I should get changed before dinner.” The smile had been wiped from his face, thoroughly. No doubt his Father would be pleased.   
\----

**_The Jewelled Crozier; Ishgard_ **

Patrice de Dubois wrung her hands about the handkerchief she was clutching as she pleaded with her son. Like her son she was tall, not taller than her husband, of course. But it was obvious where Pascalle had gained his height from, as well as his slender frame.

“Pascalle, dearest,  _ please _ .” She implored as she twisted the cloth through her fingers. “Just a stroll around the Crozier this afternoon, you haven’t been seen in public with him for  _ months _ .”

It was difficult for him to say no to his mother. Pascalle knew that his Father would have put her up to this. He sighed, signalling his relent.

“Alright, alright.” He said to her, turning to look out the window into the small garden at the back of their estate. There had been lavender bushes growing there once, and lilies of the valley, dahlias. There was nothing there but white now.

“Thank you, my sweet.” She finally stopped wringing her handkerchief.

He gave another soft sigh.

“Is there anything you need me to get for you, or Anais?” He asked, almost hopefully. Any reason to be able to cut his father off when he started off on one of his  _ lectures _ .

“Perhaps you can find Anais a new scarf.” His Mother replied, a rare smile gracing her elegant face. In truth, Pascalle got his smile from his mother as well. Atreux de Dubois wore many expressions, but a smile was never one of them.

The rest of the morning dragged on for Pascalle. The very thought of spending the afternoon with his father left such a sour taste in his mouth. But it was a taste he would have to swallow for his mother’s sake. He prayed to Halone that the gesture would at least bring her some respite.

When Atreux finally descended from his study, the rest of his family were sitting in the parlour. He stood for a moment, staring with a disapproving frown at his son, kneeling on the rug. Laughing with his sister as she taught him a clapping game she’d learned from somewhere or other.

“Get up off the floor, Pascalle.” Was all he said as he watched them.

Anais spun away from her brother,

“Shall I teach you Daddy?” She asked him sweetly. Pascalle watched the subtle twitch of his father’s top lip. A barely contained revulsion, no doubt a reflex to the thought of having to kneel.

“Not now, darling.” Patrice said, standing from the lounge and taking up one of her daughter’s hands. “Daddy and Pascalle are going for a walk.”

“Perhaps when I get home, Anais.” Atreux lied to his daughter, his lips drawn into the paper-thin line that passed for his smile. “Come.” His Father told him, turning to walk back down the hall.

Pascalle pushed himself up off the floor, forcing the frown from his face before he finally stood, following his Father in silence.

It was a clear afternoon in the Pillars. There was no blue sky or beating sun, but there was no snow either.

“…So then, I told Bonfaurt that it’s pure insanity to even attend a meeting about a joint offense on the Garleans. Of course, he agreed…”

“I don’t think Ulbant Bonfaurt has any sway in the matter.” Pascalle was only half-listening to his Father, but Ulbant Bonfaurt  _ was _ an old fool anyway. 

“Gather enough voices, Pascalle. Gather enough voices. That’s all one needs to do.” Atreux’s tone was nothing short of patronising as he said it.

“I need to look for a scarf for Anais.” He changed the subject, casting his eyes toward one of the stalls to his left, unwilling to listen to his Father complain about the Lord Commander’s meeting in Gridania a minute longer. “Mother asked me.”

“Well, just don’t buy her anything in  _ rolanberry _ . That’s the colour of the common woman.” There was something about the way his father said it. Just a touch more derisive. He glanced back at him, turning his head to follow Atreux’s gaze toward the weaponsmith across the walkway. In front of his stall stood a woman wearing a bright, rolanberry blouse, balancing a large crate upon her arms. He realised as soon as he saw her, that it was Nasrinne. Pascalle’s head snapped back toward the assortment of scarves and gloves on display in front of him.

_ Please, by the grace of the Fury. _ He prayed silently, closing his eyes. D _ on’t let her notice me. Not today. Not with him. _

But of course, she had noticed him. Hadn’t Jhulayne boasted to him that his sister could mark a rabbit from the walls of Whitebrim with a single shot from her bow? He heard her speak,

“Halone’s blessing upon you, Ser Pascalle. What a pleasant surprise.”  _ More like Halone’s curse _ . He thought to himself, ruefully. “This must be your Father. It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Lord Dubois.”

“Viscount Dubois.” Atreux corrected her, barely concealing his sneer as he looked at the box she carried.

“My apologies, please forgive my rudeness Viscount. I meant no offense, of course. I shall commit your proper title to memory at once.”

Pascalle’s heart sank all the way to the stones beneath his feet as he listened to that apology.

“Who’s this, Pascalle?” Atreux continued without lifting his icy gaze from Nasrinne’s face.

“This is Lady Filois, the sister of an old acquaintance from my moons as a squire.” Pascalle said pushing down the pang of guilt in his chest as he looked toward Nasrinne’s panicked face.

“ _ Lady Filois _ .” Atreux repeated, glancing Nasrinne up and down. “Hauling supplies, are we?”

“Yes, Viscount, I’m just helping my sister’s husband with some late deliveries so he can be home in time for supper.” Her cheerful reply was wasted on his father.

“Not a very lady like activity. Carrying boxes and playing delivery boy.”

Nasrinne grew pale as a sheet as he said this, then her dark-blue eyes shot away from Atreux’s smirking face to stare intently at the cracks between the stone paving. The tips of her ears began to flush with embarrassment. Atreux stepped past her as if she had become completely invisible.

“Isn’t that right, Pascalle?” His father looked right at him as he asked the question with far too much glee in his eyes. But he didn’t bother to force an answer, continuing on through the Crozier as if he hadn’t just humiliated a woman in front of a small crowd of onlookers.

“ _ Nasrinne _ .” A voice called out across the crowd, it was a hyrun man. No doubt the Lord Vernisse.

“Please, give your regards to your brother for me, Lady Filois.” He couldn’t bring himself to even look at her as he said it.

“Yes. I’ll be sure to let him know I ran into his  _ acquaintance _ .” She replied quietly. With none of the animated character in her voice that he remembered from their evening together a sennight past. “If you’ll excuse me, Ser Pascalle, I must finish helping with these deliveries.”

“Of course.” When he finally summoned up the courage to look up at her, she had already walked away.

_ Nasrinne? What’s the matter? You’re red in the face. _ _   
_ _ It’s nothing, Tristione.  _

Pascalle caught the eyes of Tristione de Vernisse for a half-second. A half-second long enough to see the discerning frown that accompanied them.

“Did that man say something to you?” Tristione whispered to Nasrinne, well out of earshot of the tall, silver haired Elezen he had seen her standing with.

“It was Jhulayne’s friend.” She said, “He just asked me to give Jhulayne his regards. That’s all.” Nasrinne shrugged, the flush having faded from her face now. But there was still a hint of something in her deep eyes. Tristione’s blonde brows knitted together as he studied his sister-in-law. But he pressed the issue no further.

“Shall we get some cider to have with dinner? It’s been such a warm sennight...” He changed the subject.

Lord Tristione had been adopted into the Vernisse family as a young child. A decision that had turned out to be much to their benefit. For the young Tristione had a keen mind when it came to matters of money and trade. His scrupulous business nature had brought plenty of fortune and even a little bit of honour to his small house. When he was young, he had been quite handsome, if not a little short by an Elezen’s standards. He and Nasrinne stood at about the same height. A fact which, he always joked, made her his favourite person in Coerthas after her sister and his children. His blonde hair was still thick and wavy, though it had lost much of its colour over the years. He didn’t fuss much with his appearance, although he never had to because he had Ygrinne to do that, and he was boundlessly patient with his wife’s endless accessorising.

“Warm for Coerthas.” Nasrinne she with a sigh, then she turned her face towards Tristione, a glimmer of a smile on her lips. “So, I suppose we should take advantage of it.” 

\----

**_Whitebrim; Coerthas_ **

Nasrinne was on her knees beneath the table, her arms stretched out in front of her, fingers feeling through the thick fibres of the rug, muttering to herself. That was how Jhulayne found her.

He smirked for a moment as he watched her.

“Father said I might find you in here.”

His voice startled her, and she jumped.  _ Thunk _ .

“Oww.” She whined, emerging from the shadows, rubbing her head.

“What are you doing on the floor?” He asked her, folding his arms over his chest, hiding his right beneath the left to keep his missing hand from view. She gave a little sigh, tucking her legs beneath herself, still seated on the rug, her head now safe from the table’s treacherous edge.

“I’m looking for my moonstone earring. It must have fallen out here last night when we were talking with Yggy and Tristione…”

“Your moonstone earring? You mean the one’s we gifted you for the Starlight Festival… gods, ten years ago? Nasrinne, they weren’t even that expensive.”

“Almost ten. It was just after I turned seventeen. The first time I visited Ishgard.” Nasrinne had an excellent memory for trivial things like this. Perhaps it came from memorising so many songs and hymns.

“The first time you went to Ishgard. That would have been when you first met Paz?”

“The  _ first _ time I met Ser Pascalle de Dubois was a fortnight ago.” She corrected him, “Unless by met you mean  _ saw _ him and was told his name.”

“Didn’t you ask after him? To Ygrinne? Isn’t that how it went? I’m sure that’s what she told me.”

“That is  _ not _ how it went.” Her lips pursed in irritation, “Ygrinne asked me to point out every noble in the room to whom I might like an introduction.  _ Yes,  _ Ser Pascalle de Dubois was among them.” She was very careful to keep her inflection perfectly neutral as she said his name. She had been doing a marvellous job  _ not _ thinking about  _ Pascalle de Dubois _ for the past three suns. But, of course, her brother would ruin that. “But if that is asking after him, then I’ve probably asked after every noble in Coerthas.”

“You know what else Yggy told me…” Jhulayne began.

“What?” Nasrinne asked him dryly.

“She said you saw him when you were in the city last sennight. At the Crozier.”

“Oh. Just in passing…” She shrugged quickly, turning her attention back toward the carpet. “Sorry, Jhuls, he did tell me to give you his regards. It slipped my mind.”

“Slipped  _ your _ mind?” Jhulayne sounded thoroughly unconvinced. “Nas, nothing ever slips your mind.”

“Of course, it does. I don’t remember everything, Jhulayne. I’m not some sort of savant.” She muttered without lifting her eyes.

He laughed, crouching down beside her to help her search. Leaning on his once proud sword arm.

“Actually, Nas. That reminds me, I’ve got a question for you.” He raked his fingers across the patch of rug in front of him. “Do you remember what year they gave old Valeroyant sainthood? It’s been bothering me for suns; I just can’t recall the date.”

“It was around the year 817 in the Sixth Astral era.” She responded with a shrug, “Why were you thinking about that?”

“Oh. I dunno… hey, also, when did we all adopt the gil again?”

“That was the Sixth Astral era also, in 1477.” She glanced up toward him, looking slightly bewildered. “Why the sudden interest in history?”

“There isn’t one really.” Jhulayne shrugged, “Just trying to prove a point.” 

“What point?” She asked the question just as she realised its answer. “ _ Oh. _ ”

“Now that we’ve proven your mind is an encyclopedia.” He gave her a brazen smirk, before the expression softened slightly, his lips turning down, “Why didn’t you tell me you saw Paz?”

Nasrinne gave a heavy sigh, growing pensive for a moment as her mind replayed the embarrassing encounter.

“Because he was rude.” She said finally.

“That’s what Yggy said!” He exclaimed, “I don’t believe it.” Jhulayne’s voice protest burst defiantly from his lips. “Pascalle is  _ never _ rude. He doesn’t have a rude bone in his whole, stupidly tall body.”

“Well. Perhaps he’s changed.”

“What, in eight suns? Nasrinne.” Jhulayne rolled his eyes, “You  _ met _ the man.”

“Perhaps he wasn’t rude.” She sighed again, “Perhaps it was his Father who was rude. But either way, I don’t think Ser Pascalle was particularly enthused to see me again.”

Jhulayne shook his head aggressively,

“ _ Rubbish _ .” He said to her, before broaching another question, “You met Paz’s old man?”

“Viscount Atreux de Dubois. Yes.” 

“I don’t know much about him.” Jhulayne shrugged again, “Paz never spoke of him really. I don’t think they were close… perhaps you just ran into them at a bad time, Nas.”

“Perhaps. It doesn’t matter Jhulayne. It didn’t bother me.” She lied, “Why should I care if he doesn’t want to exchange pleasantries with me in the Crozier? I hardly know the man.”

“Why are you pouting then? And why are the tips of your ears turning red?”

“Don’t tease me. Jhulayne.” She frowned at him, “Help me look for my earring, or at the very least, tell me the names of the places you travelled through in the Shroud again.”

“I’m going to have words with him.”

“ _ What _ !?” The word that left her lips was unable to decide if it wanted to sound anxious or incredulous.

“I’m going to have words with him.” Jhulayne repeated, “Ask him why he upset my little sister.”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ .” She hissed at him.

“I’m sure if he knew you were upset, he’d want to apologise.” Her brother replied with a pointed stare.

“Jhulayne. Please just  _ drop _ it.” She begged him, her lips curling into an entirely too sincere pout for him to press the issue any further.

“Alright, alright.” He acquiesced, returning to search the rug with her. After a few moments of silence however, Jhulayne couldn’t help himself.

“Paz did you like you though. He said he  _ enjoyed your candor _ .”

“Really, was that before or after you told him that I wanted to marry the Azure Dragoon?” Her words were followed by a groan of embarrassment. “I can’t believe you told him that Jhulayne, I was  _ eight _ .”

“Oh, but Nas. That’s my  _ favourite _ story to tell to embarrass you in front of boys.” He smirked at her.

“How often have you had cause to do it now, twice?” She quirked a brow as she turned back to her search for the earring. “I suppose I am happy to be of service.”

“You can’t blame a big brother for teasing. It’s one of the few duties I have left that I can still fulfil.” His words sounded just a touch despondent.

Nasrinne gave a gentle tut, crawling the small distance between them so that she could rest a hand on his knee.

“Well then have at it, dear brother of mine. If you must make fun of me for being a woman who is not immune to the charms of the opposite sex to feel better, then I shall take it in stride.” She grinned at him dryly, “Yes, your friend,  _ Paz, _ as you keep calling him, is charming, and strikingly handsome. I should imagine I played with my hair or tapped my fingers on my knee every moment he was in the room.”

“Oh, you  _ did _ .” Jhulayne nodded. Clearly amused, but also quite obviously touched by her sisterly gesture of kindness.

He reached out to grab hold of her hand and give it a squeeze. But a stump was no match for the sturdy stability of a splayed palm, and without his  _ actual _ hand to support him, he soon overbalanced.

Her hands were on his shoulders before he could fall too far.

“Careful brother.” She chastised him tenderly as she helped him regain his balance. “You have been straining your arm too long, let me help you into a chair. You can still tease me about my girlish affections while I search for my missing earring.”

“Ah, but look, I’ve found it.” Jhulayne told her proudly, reaching down with his good hand as he leaned against her and plucking it up from the floor between their knees, holding it up for her to see.

“My dear, sweet Jhulayne.” Nasrinne took it from him gleefully, eyes shining with relief as she kissed him on his cheeks. “You’re my hero, do you know that?”

“Well, I do try.” He gave her a playful smirk as she helped him up to his feet.

\----


	5. Chapter 5

##  **Chapter 5**

**_Apartments de Vernisse; The Pillars_ **

Nasrinne leaned back against the chair, watching the snow as it fell outside the windows of her room at her sister’s house. She daren’t admit it to anyone, but she loved the snow. She loved to watch The tiny, glimmering flakes sweeping past with the gusting wind, carrying with them the faintest hint of silvery-blue.

_ Like the colour of Pascalle’s hair _ . The thought intruded into her mind. She frowned, shaking her head, focusing on what she had been first thinking about. The gentle snow that she had grown so used to watching, blanketing the land softly in a carpet of alabaster.

But it was no use. Now that she’d thought of him, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. His hair, his charming smile, his intoxicating laugh.

She bit her lip, turning her face from the window and looking over toward her flute and harp. A moment later, the oil lamp was flickering next to her as she leaned above a page of notes upon her desk, her inkpen balanced between her fingers as she hummed, strumming the harp. The easiest way for a bard to deal with their fantasies was to twist them into a song.

The best place to start of course, was the mysterious Mirielle. Oh, how Nasrinne’s mind burned with questions when she thought of the name. She couldn’t ask her brother, obviously. Well, she had garnered a small amount from Jhulayne, but she had not wanted to seem too curious lest he turn the subject into teasing her about having an  _ interest _ in Pascalle. It was something she had denied to everyone who had asked. Yggy, her Mother, her Father. Jhulayne.

Had it been convincing? It had been a lie, through and through. But Nasrinne was a  _ good _ liar. Her ink pen clattered upon the grey, stone tiles of the floor. She realised she’d stopped playing her harp. She worried her lip as she put the instrument down. Picking up the ink pen and searching for something to clean the spots of black from the floor. Ygrinne would have a fit if she stained the tiles. She settled for using her handkerchief, but she only succeeded in smearing the drops into long, ugly lines.

_ Shit _ . Nasrinne cursed inwardly. She was going to need soap and water. What a bother. Everyone would be bustling about preparing for dinner about now, and Nasrinne hated to be a nuisance. She scratched her nose with her finger, unwittingly leaving a smudge of ink across the bridge of it. With a little sigh of resignation, she bunched her handkerchief into her fist and headed for the kitchen and servant’s mess.

The apartments her sister lived in had three separate floors. The guest room Nasrinne stayed in was on the top floor. The soap and water were on the bottom floor. She closed her eyes, her fingertips trailing along the bannister as she hummed the tune she’d been fiddling on her harp. Just as she rounded the end of the second flight of stairs, she smacked against something solid mid-step. Something that absolutely should not have been there. The note of her song faltered as she lost her footing on the edge of the stair, and then a strong hand gripped her. When she looked up she found herself staring up into a pair of ice-blue eyes. They did not belong to any member of the de Vernisse family. Or the Filois for that matter.

“ _ Oh _ .” Was all she could think to say in her moment of terror as the balls of her feet found the firm ground beneath them again.

“Forgive me, Lady Filois.” Ser Pascalle said to her, letting go of her arm. “I was just coming with Jhulayne to fetch you for dinner. Are you alright?”

Jhulayne was grinning at her, wickedly, from ear to ear.

“Ser Pascalle? What are you doing here?” She said it before realising he had in fact, just explained that to her. “I’m terribly sorry. I just mean, I wasn’t expecting the pleasure of your company this evening.” She gripped the bannister her fingers had been skating along tightly, although this was not as much to steady her balance as it was an attempt to steady the racing in her heart.

“Your brother kindly invited me to dine with your family this evening before I leave for the front in Gyr Abania.” He smiled at her, and her grip on the bannister tightened.

“How  _ thoughtful _ of you, Jhuls. And without even telling me.” She glanced toward her brother with a charming smile. But Jhulayne knew better than to take it at face value. He could read the subtle angle of its curve which said  _ I will murder you in your sleep, you meddlesome wretch _ . But he couldn’t take it seriously with the ink on her face, so he just chuckled at her.

“Oh, think nothing of it, little bird.” He winked merrily. Still chuckling as Nasrinne turned her eyes to the thick green carpet of the stairs in an attempt to avoid looking at either of the Elezen standing a step below her. She reached up to brush her hair away from her eyes. Which of course left another dark trail of ink just beneath her eyebrow.

“Ah, Lady Nasrinne…” Pascalle began, fully intending to tell her about the ink on her face until she looked up at him with her very earnest and questioning eyes. He didn’t mean to grin at her like he did; it wasn’t to be cruel. There was something so sweet and whimsical about the juxtaposition of her expression and the smears of ink, and it only grew more amusing as her confusion deepened.

“Yes?” She asked as her brows knitted together and Jhulayne’s laughter rose to a rolling crescendo.

“You’ve got some… ah...” He gestured to his face, and Nasrinne, unthinkingly brought her stained handkerchief up towards it. “Oh, no.” Pas reached out his hand to stop hers, shaking his head. His grin only growing wider, despite his best efforts.

“Why don’t you just get it for her Paz?” Jhulayne asked him, “Seeing as she’s got you so tongue tied.”

Nasrinne turned toward her brother then, mercifully missing the hint of pink blossoming along the tips of Pascalle’s ears at the jest.

“Whatever are you rambling about?”

“You’ve got some ink on your face, Lady Filois.” Pascalle said finally. Now he was looking down toward the carpet of the stairs.

“ _ Oh. _ ” She should have liked to melt into that carpet if it were possible. “I see. Well, yes, you see I just spilled some ink upstairs, and I was trying to clean it up and I must have-”

“Perhaps we can be of assistance?” He interjected quite suddenly, “At the very least, I’d be happy to help. Perhaps Jhulayne can explain what’s keeping us from joining your family.”

“Great idea Paz. I’ll go do that right now, you two head back, I’ll send a servant up with some soap.”

“Well Ser Pascalle doesn’t really need to help if you’re getting a servant…” Nasrinne called uselessly after her brother, who had already spun on his heel and was disappearing back downstairs.

“Please, it’s no trouble. I’m sure the servants have enough to do attending to the evening meal.”

The next four and a half minutes in the guest room were an incredibly tense and awkward affair for Nasrinne. Pascalle had to stop her twice more from touching her face with her ink stained fingers while they made small talk. Although he seemed more amused by that fact, than troubled. His hands felt softer than she expected them to, and the warmth of his touch seemed to linger on her skin long after.

When the scullery maid finally arrived with a hot towel for her face and a bowl of sudsy water and a rag, she offered to take care of the cleaning, but Pascalle again said it was no trouble. Nasrinne watched him wringing out the cloth in the reflection of the small mirror above the dresser as she scrubbed at her brow.

“You can just set that on the writing desk when you finish. I’ll send someone up for it after dinner. Yggy will never forgive me if the food gets cold.”

“Of course.” He nodded, looking at his own distorted reflection in the cloudy water. “Actually, Lady Nasrinne…” He said her name softly, hesitating for a moment as he wondered how to continue.

“Yes, Ser Pascalle?” Her reply came just as soft, her face turning away from the mirror to look toward where he still knelt on the floor. He could tell, even though he wasn’t looking at her because he could feel her gaze.

“I just wanted to apologise…” he frowned at himself, “For my Father’s behaviour at the Crozier…”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” Nasrinne replied, waving away his apology with her hand as she moved toward the dresser where Yggy kept all the fresh handkerchiefs, and other little bits of cloth that Nasrinne didn’t even know the point of. “Anyway, he wasn’t wrong. Playing at delivery boy is hardly an activity for a lady.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, focusing instead on the contents of the neatly arranged draw. Pretending that it was somehow difficult to find what she was looking for, even though all the handkerchiefs were neatly folded and piled atop each other in the left corner.

“He was wrong.” There was a firmness to his tone that made her turn her head again. “There’s nothing unlady like about you.” He said it to her so sincerely. 

Nasrinne wasn’t quite sure if the fact moved her heart with joy or filled it with terror. 

“That is…” Pascalle cleared his throat, “What I mean to say is I hope you can forgive his outdated notions.” He stood, picking up the bowl of water and setting it upon the writing desk, careful to avoid the pages of sheet music she’d been working on.

“Are you composing something new?” He asked as he looked over the notes scribbled upon them, “If that’s the case I should very much like to hear it when it’s done.”

Nasrinne froze.

“I’m not really sure how I feel about it yet, Ser Pascalle. Perhaps. When I make up my mind about it…” It was entirely too honest an answer. “We better hurry downstairs.” She added quickly, wiping the last of the ink from her fingers and tossing the towel down next to her dirty handkerchief.

\----

The family apartments sat toward the edge of the Pillars, not far from the estates of House Fortemps. The dining room and parlour were a cosy, open plan affair with a set of large, wide windows that looked out not over the city, but over the mountainside, and the rolling, snowy plains of Western Coerthas.

Usually, Nasrinne sat on the side of the table opposite to the windows. It gave her something to distract herself with when the conversation started to drag. And then Yggy would scold her for not being present. ( _ A lady should always give the speaker her full attention, Nasrinne. _ )

But tonight, they had a guest for dinner. So perhaps that was why Ygrinne had not seated her facing the window, as usual, but between her nephews. Directly facing Ser Pascalle. A fact that she of course didn’t realise until she was already sitting down.

“Where’s Jhuls?” She asked, averting her eyes from the knight’s face.

This was an inexcusable offense, really. Nasrinne told herself she would take it up with Yggy in full later on. 

“He’s helping Tristione pick some wine– Demetre, get out of his chair. Go sit down next to your Aunt.” Ygrinne said to her middle son firmly. Demetre gave a begrudging scowl, moving from where he had already been sitting in Jhulayne’s seat. Eager to spend the entire evening meal bothering Pascalle to show him his sword. The boy bore a strong resemblance to his Father, with the same tawny eyes and heart-shaped face. 

“Will you eat my spinach for me Nas?” He asked her as he sat down. “We’re having one of those spinach and popoto gratins again.” He pulled a face as he said it. As if the words themselves tasted like spinach. 

“Demetre. You’ll eat your own spinach.” Yggy told him, looking up from where she was fussing with her youngest son ( _ Henri; age 9 _ ) at the other end of the table. Demetre pulled another face. 

“I don’t want any spinach either.” Henri said earnestly. Henri was the spitting image of his Mother, but for the shorter ears. Nasrinne was confident he was going to break many hearts once he got a little older.

“Everyone is eating their spinach or there will be  _ no _ marron glace and rolanberry tart for dessert.” Before either boy could protest the objectively unfair threat, Tristione and Jhulayne appeared, bottles in tow. Tristione set them down on the table. Ygrinne bustled about, lifting the gleaming silver lids from the dishes.

There was indeed, spinach and popoto gratin. Along with braised loaghtan and bean soup. It was much less food than would be served in his own home. Not that there wasn't enough. Pascalle tried to imagine his Mother serving dinner to her guests, rather than a servant. It was... well impossible.

But he found it was comforting, to be around a family where children could be children. There was no one being called juvenile, dull-witted or foolish. No one seated at the end of the table looking down with arrogance on everything. He looked around the room, at the quaint lodgings (by the standards of most noble homes in Ishgard, anyway,) trying to avoid looking directly across the table, at Nasrinne. Curse Jhulayne and his scheming, Thank Halone the company was lively enough to keep anything from getting _awkward._ He was still feeling guilty about their last meeting in the Market. _If only I could just explain it better... Explain what? That my father is a prejudiced intolerant bigot? That people's feelings, their lives even, mean nothing to him?_ _Not appropriate dinner talk, Pas._

He watched the children arguing with their mother, making excuses. It brought a few chuckles and a smile to his face, successfully avoiding any tricky topics of conversation.

“Pour the wine for me, Little Bird?” Jhulayne asked as he sat down.

“Of course.”

“Then pour one for yourself?” He added cheekily.

“Aren’t you having any soup, Nasrinne? Don’t drink a glass of red until you’ve at least got a bowl of soup in your stomach.”

“No, Yggy. I’m not having any soup.” (Nasrinne hated bean soup as much as Demetre hated spinach.)

“Why doesn’t Aunt Nas have to have soup if I have to have spinach?”

“Aunt Nasrinne is allergic to soup, Demetre.” Jhulayne lied.

“I’ve seen her eat soup before.” Henri replied, unhelpfully.

Nasrinne passed Jhulayne the wine.

“Do you want one Paz?” He asked Pascalle as he took it.

_ What sins must I have committed, Halone? To endure this punishment? _ She groaned to herself inwardly.

“I’m sure Ser Pascalle can pour his own wine, Jhulayne.” Tristione said from his seat at the head of the table. Where he was, in fact, already pouring his own wine. “Let your sister sit down and enjoy her dinner.” 

“Of course, I can pour my own. Thank you Lady Nasrinne.” Pascalle took the bottle from her, glancing briefly at Jhuls (a look that could kill,) before he poured his own glass.

Nasrinne sat herself down; serving herself up some dinner, looking at it very intently. Pretending not to notice as Demetre slid his spinach onto her plate.

A moment later, a sudden  _ thwack _ , brought her eyes up. Startled. Henri had a similar reaction, and Demeter stopped mid-scoop of gratin.

It was Pascalle, he’d given the table a sharp bang with the palm of his hand, which had certainly done the job of getting everyone’s attention.

“Now children, listen close...” He began “If you want to grow up big and strong like your father, spinach is the best food to eat. In fact, it’s the  _ only _ thing Temple Knights eat.” he said with a smile and a spoonful of the food which he promptly stuffed in his mouth and made an exaggerated hum of satisfaction. Closing his eyes and rubbing his stomach with his other free hand to really sell it.

Jhulayne laughed,

“It’s  _ true. _ ” He lied again to his nephews. “If only I’d eaten my spinach as a boy, maybe I would have got into the Temple Knights, ‘ey Pascalle?”

“ _ Actually, Aunt Nas _ .” Demetre whispered to her (although not really quietly enough to keep anyone from hearing.) “ _ I might take that back. _ ” He said, using his fork to once again ferry the dark, wilted leaves onto his plate.

Nasrinne bit her lip to keep herself from laughing outright at the two of them.

“Lord Tristione, Lady Ygrinne, I must thank you for inviting me into your home to share a meal with your beautiful family. My apologies if Jhulayne thrust this upon you somewhat unexpectedly.” He turned his head to Jhulayne and gave him a smile that said;  _ you do this to everyone, don’t you.  _ “The view here at the edge of the city is most magnificent, truly.” He said, nodding toward the window. It really was much better than the grey stone of the rest of the city, at least to him anyway. 

“It used to be a lot nicer, Ser Pascalle. A pity you never had the occasion to visit when the lands were still green.” Ygrinne replied with a smile, delicately breaking a piece of bread to dip into her soup. She then turned towards her sister, giving Nasrinne something of a disapproving look as she watched her hesitantly move her hand toward the bottle of wine. It was a look that said;  _ I do wish you’d have some soup. _

“Jhulayne said you would be travelling to the front.” Tristione spoke then, glancing down the table at the knight,

Pas, unlike Nasrinne had a fondness for soups. He had shared many frosty nights with his brothers in arms around a small campfire pot, throwing in whatever they had managed to scrounge up. This soup obviously prepared with much more care had delighted his palette. He was mopping up the last bits in his bowl with a chunk of bread. He didn’t know how many more home cooked meals he would get. He was still holding the piece of bread soaked with the remnants of his soup when he replied to Tristione.

“Jhuls is quite right, The Temple Knights will embark to Gyr Abania within the sennight as we already have our standing orders.”

“I for one appreciate the aid that the Temple Knights are offering the Alliance in this matter.” Tristione said with a sombre nod. “The Imperials are a terror to the trade routes through Thanalan and the Shroud. It’s only a matter of time before they bring their armies here to Coerthas and then–”

“No politics until after everyone’s finished eating, dearest.” Ygrinne cut him off cleanly, although there was nothing clipped or spiteful about her tone.

“You know Yggy only made that rule because otherwise, Nas talks till her dinner gets cold.” Jhulayne told Pascalle, clearly pleased to be able to provide him with this context. Pascalle popped the hunk of bread in his mouth, taking extra time to chew so as not to laugh at Jhulayne’s comment at the expense of his sister.

“That’s only partly true.” Ygrinne said. Which wasn’t much of a defense really. Nasrinne pushed her popotoes around her plate.

“But, it  _ is _ true.”

“Yes, but  _ Jhuls _ .” Nasrinne looked toward her brother. “The other half of the reason is because you get petulant when I make you look like a fool.”

“And that is also partly true. You’ll have to forgive them, Ser Pascalle. My brother is a relentless scoundrel and Nasrinne indulges it far too much.” Ygrinne shook her head.

Jhulayne however, was laughing. Jhuls truly did love his family, Pascalle thought to himself. It brought a smile to his lips.

“Sorry, Yggy. Sorry.” Jhulayne said to his older sister, before turning back to Nasrinne. “Have a glass of wine, Little Bird, and stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.” Nasrinne shot back at him. Pouting.

“She has hardly eaten a bite of her dinner, Jhulayne.” Ygrinne frowned.

“She  _ is _ twenty-seven, my dear.” Tristione chimed in.

_ Please. Strike me down. Any of the Gods will do. Whoever is listening.  _ Nasrinne prayed silently.

“Can I have some wine?” Demetre asked hopefully.

“Most certainly not.”   
“Not until you're sixteen my boy.” Came the swift responses of his parents, in unison.

“Then can I have dessert now? I ate all my spinach.”

Ygrinne gave a sigh,

“Yes,” She said, “Go to the kitchen and tell Marie you can have your tart in the playroom.” Demetre sprung from his chair. “And take your brother with you.” She said as he passed Henri’s chair.

“Come on Henny.” He said, to which his younger brother dutifully responded by dashing after him, saying something about how he also wanted cream. Watching Nasrinne’s family brought a twinge of regret to Pascalle, that his family would never be like this. Making jokes, carefree children. He was just waiting for it to all turn sour, like everything could turn for the worst in a single moment.

“Have you got any of that cider left that you got from the  _ Crozier _ the other sennight.” Jhulayne asked his brother-in-law, casual as can be. “Cider’s great with Rolanberry tart.”

_ Like now. _

Nasrinne was looking at her brother with eyes like daggers.

“Didn’t you two run into each other that sun?” Jhulayne continued, pretending not to notice her gaze, gesturing between his sister and his friend with his wine glass.

“Yes.” Nasrinne said, a tad icily.

Pascalle recoiled inside himself. His body tensed. He looked to Tristione, who was watching him with eyes like a hawk.

Ygrinne stared at the three of them, horrified, before her eyes finally settled on her husband. Tristione graced his wife with a barely perceptible shrug from the other end of the table before he took a sip of his wine. It was a shrug that said.  _ Don’t you wish you’d let me talk about politics now? _ But what he said was;

“Actually, we do. Shall I fetch it?”

Nothing to do but be polite.

“That would be lovely I am partial to Cider,” Pascalle said, “Thank you Tristione,” as he mustered the best smile he could before picking up his wine glass and drinking the rest in a single gulp. Trying to hide the terror in his eyes.  _ Why Jhulayne? _ He would be having words with him later.

But Jhulayne was either wholly oblivious to the trouble he was causing, or wholly happy about it. He matched his sister’s gaze quite evenly for a moment, his lips turning upwards in a wry grin.

“Nas is such a good girl doing that, you know. Lots of noble girls wouldn't help their big brother out so much.” He continued to talk, as if the air around everyone hadn’t become frigid and tense, turning his eyes to Pascalle, “By all rights it should have been  _ me _ helping Tristione carry things around the Crozier.”

The scowl that had been forming on Nasrinne’s lips softened and she sighed.

“Don’t be all melancholy at the dinner table, Jhuls.” She murmured, although it wasn’t much of a reproach. It was difficult to stay angry at a man with one-hand. Jhulayne couldn’t even hold his knife and fork at the same time. And didn’t she tell him he could tease her all he liked if it made him feel better?

But Jhulayne wasn’t teasing. He had a purpose in mind and it wasn't making everyone feel sorry for his missing right hand.

“It’s not being melancholy, it’s  _ true _ . That’s why you’re such a good girl. Doing all my jobs and never with a complaint.” He shrugged as Tristione returned with the cider, and Marie behind him with dessert. "I just think people should know  _ why _ they might find you playing at  _ errand boy _ in the Crozier."

Big brothers were terribly bothersome things. Nasrinne thought. Even when they were trying to help, all they did was embarrass you.

Ygrinne stood up, looking slightly less pale than she had at the start of Jhulayne’s little experiment.

“Shall we move to the hearth?” She gestured toward the fireplace at the other side of the room, crackling merrily in front of the lounge and armchairs.

Nasrinne sighed again beneath her breath. She didn’t want to move to the hearth. She didn't want any rolanberry tart. She wanted to go up to her room and die quietly. But no one was going to let her do that.

“Are you fond of rolanberries, Ser Pascalle?” She asked, broaching a topic of conversation that wouldn’t give Yggy another heart attack. 

Pascalle was still busy brooding about Jhulayne antics when Nasrinne asked him about the tarts. Honestly, he was not enthusiastic about rolanberries but all he could think was his presence had already made things awkward enough let alone voicing a distaste of rolanberries to his hosts, instead he lied. 

“Why yes, a favourite in my household.” He replied, even though his father would never serve rolanberry tart on his table.

Being an exceptional liar herself, Nasrinne was very good at spotting lies.

“Have you ever had  _ marrons glacé? _ ” She asked him as she sat down on the lounge that faced the fire, “Marie makes a lovely variety with a touch of vanilla. I much prefer them to rolanberry tart, perhaps we could share a plate?” She wished she hadn’t said the last part of the sentence because both Ygrinne and Jhulayne looked at her.

_ Don’t be too forward, Nasrinne _ . Said Ygrinne’s eyes.

_ Go on, Nasrinne _ . Said Jhulayne’s grin.

She ignored them both.

"I haven't, actually." He replied to her with a smile. In truth, Pascalle was glad Nasrinne saw through his obvious distaste of rolanberries. Although that gladness didn't fully explain the slight tremor he felt in his chest whenever he looked at her. “Could I help you in serving that cider, Jhuls?” He turned to look instead at someone else.

Nasrinne, smiled opening her mouth to finally get one back on her brother after his terrorising her all evening.

“Depends how much you want in the glass and how much you want on the table.” Jhulayne said it for her, glancing over and raising his eyebrows at her wounded stare. “What's the matter, Little Bird? Did I beat you to your joke?” He winked, chuckling to himself before turning back to Pas. “Here, I’ll hand out the glasses, then you can go sit down and share a plate of candied chestnuts with my sister.”

It was after two more glasses of cider, a few stories about Tristione’s recent mercantile endeavors in Ul'dah, a few about Jhulayne and Pascalle’s time together as squires, and a great deal of candied chestnuts (Pascalle found he had taken a liking to them,) that Tristione and Yggy went to bed. Pas had more than once felt the eyes of Nasrinne’s brother in-law fall upon him discerningly. His first impression of Pascalle had been a poor one, after all.

But now, with only the three of them left. Jhulayne in his armchair by the fire and Nasrinne by his side on the lounge. He finally felt emboldened enough to explain himself. Nasrinne deserved that much, her brother was right, she  _ was _ a good girl. She hardly deserved public humiliation for being willing to lend a hand where other's often wouldn't.

Jhulayne was busy monologuing on the finer point of Chocobo Jousting, (as if he was the best jouster to ever grace Eorzea.) He didn’t seem to notice Pascalle leaning closer toward his sister to whisper.

“I wish to apologise for my… curtness at the crozier. My father…” Jhulayne was still going into detail of the best wood and grain for a jousting spear. “Arteux Dubois is... a dangerous man. With a warped sense of righteousness. The less he knows of your existence, the better.”

Nasrinne, on her third glass of cider, had finally begun to relax in her seat on the lounge by Pascalle. She was listening to Jhulayne, rolling her eyes at her brother’s reverent and detailed description of jousting spears, when she felt the knight lean in closer to her. Her eyes widened at the unexpected, (although not entirely unwelcome,) closeness, and she turned to look at him, obviously startled by his words. 

“Whatever do you mean, Pascalle?” She asked, so surprised to hear him speak about his Father in such a way that she forgot to use the honorific  _ Ser _ before his name. She would have blushed at her own forwardness; if her brother hadn’t twisted the entire situation on its head immediately. Jhulayne had in fact been listening. Like his sister, he had always been very good at following a room.

“What, your old man? I knew he was a grumpy bugger, Pas...” He interrupted him. “But I bet he doesn’t talk over people while they’re speaking.” Pascalle’s cheeks grew a shade of rosy pink (more so than the drink had already made them.) 

_ Pascalle is simply charming when he blushes. _ Was all that Nasrinne was thinking to herself now. All his mention of his Father already forgotten. (For there is nothing so intoxicating as being tipsy on liquor  _ and _ infatuation at the same time.)

But Jhulayne hadn’t forgotten what he'd said.

“What do you mean he’s dangerous?” He asked, laying his jokes aside. “Pas, you’re a bloody Temple Knight. And the most honourable one I know, if not damn near it.” He sat himself down on the corner of the table, looking at his friend seriously. “I know you’re a bit of a frothy drunk, but…”

“Frothy drunk?” Pas replied wide eyed, indignation strewn across his face. “I’ve been called a few things in my moons, but never a... frothy drunk…” He trailed off. “I ‘spose there is some truth to it...” He conceded with a slightly boyish giggle. (Which caused Nasrinne to press a hand to her lips in an attempt to hide the delighted smile it elicited from her.)

The alcohol had clearly gotten to him, Pascalle thought. Or otherwise, he had grown too comfortable with the siblings of the Filois family, he reasoned.  _ His _ family, especially his father, were not topics he would broach in a normal conversation.  _ With anyone _ .

Even when complaining down in the ale-soaked hall of the Forgotten Knight, five or more mugs of mead in and barely able to stand.  _ This _ was not something he would talk about. It gave him reason to pause on the thought, he  _ cared _ for Nasrrine, he knew. And that was a dangerous thing for him to do.

“Look, all I’m saying is it’s better you both go by unnoticed when it comes to my Father.” Pas sighed.

Nasrinne bit her lip delicately. She loved her own Father dearly. She couldn’t ever imagine speaking ill of him to anyone. But then… it was impossibly difficult for her to imagine Pascalle speaking ill of anyone. And she could tell from her brother’s face that he couldn’t imagine it either.

“Well, I don’t suppose there is any reason for your Father to know more of my existence than he already does… so I am sure there’s nothing to worry about.” She said it hastily. Not wanting to embarrass the knight any further.

“Halone willing, you’re right, Lady Nasrinne.” He said to her. She watched as he forced a smile onto his face as he changed the subject. “How about another cider?” He asked them, before turning back to Jhulayne, by the time he had looked back at her brother, the dashing grin she had grown so fond of was back upon his face. “Or will that make me too  _ frothy  _ a drunk?”

\----


	6. Chapter 6

##  **Chapter 6**

**_The Pillars; Ishgard_ **

After the door to the Apartments de Vernisse closed behind him Pascalle stood there a moment on the step. Pretending to fuss with his coat.

He didn’t want to go home. His home was a shadow of the joyful place he was leaving. And a pale shadow at that. He glanced back over his shoulder as his feet reluctantly carried him forward. The light had come on in Nasrinne’s bedroom. He imagined her as he had seen her earlier that evening. Standing in front of the mirror of her dresser, her head tilted ever so slightly to the left as she wiped the ink from her brow…

Pascalle shook his head with a heavy sigh. Thinking about Jhulayne’s sister would do him no good. And it would do her even  _ less _ good.

Still, it was a shame to go to bed with a heart this heavy after such a pleasant evening. A walk would clear his head. The city was quiet at night. The air still, and frosty. Only a few stragglers around, and the handful of knights on watch here and there.

Usually when he felt listless like this, he would go to the Crozier to draw. Watch the faces of the passers-by, while his pencils rendered them permanent upon a page. But it was far too late to sketch people as they perused their wares.

He walked through there anyway. Looking at the wooden stalls with their bright curtains dimly lit by the moon above.

Perhaps he felt so comfortable with Jhulayne and his sister because it felt so much like old times. With Mirielle. Whenever Jhuls had been visiting the city, the three of them would spend hours drinking at the Knight and laughing or playing cards at her house. He had been happy back then, he knew. Who couldn’t be happy, when they were in love with such a thoughtful, bright, woman?

It had been Mirielle who encouraged him to draw. (Even though it was a hobby his Father had strongly tried to discourage him from pursuing.) She’d let him sit with her at her Family’s shop and use one of the drawing tables. Her Father had been a tailor of no small renown. Although they hadn’t been nobles, Mirielle’s family were courtiers, well known to all of the High Houses. He had gone there often, pencils and charcoals skimming across the parchment while she served her customers and sold her Father’s bespoke creations.

She had thought him quite talented, or so she often told him. Although, he wasn’t so sure about that. Truthfully, he had just wanted to draw her. Capture her beauty forever on a page. But nothing he’d tried ever managed to compare to reality.

It’s hard to let go of something that’s been taken from you. And Mirielle had been taken from him. Not by dragons, or snows. Not even by some divine, holy plan.

No, Mirielle was snatched from him by the cruel machinations of just one man. Atreux Dubois. His Father. A man who knew nothing of love, or happiness.

Her heart had simply given out, that’s what the chirurgeons told her Father. It must have been Halone’s will.

But it hadn’t been the will of a God. It had been the will of his Father, with the help of Adrax’s poisons. He  _ knew _ , because his Father was not a man who would miss an opportunity to gloat.

_ Well, the Fury’s will is absolute, isn’t it? I did warn you to stop seeing the girl. It’s unfortunate that such measures are what is required for you to learn your lessons, Pascalle _ .

That’s what Atreux had said when Pascalle told him Mirielle was dead. He  _ knew _ his Father had been the hand that held the metaphorical knife.

There were other things that pointed toward this dark truth. Happenstance things. It wasn’t unheard of for his Father’s Commander, Adrax, to commission clothes from Mirielle’s father. Though, what strange coincidence that she had died the very same sun Adrax picked up a suit for House Dzemael’s winter ball.

He knew what his Father had done. But there was nothing he could do about it.

So, that had been it. He had told himself.  _ Shut yourself away from the world, Pascalle. It’s the safest way. _

His feet had carried him into the Cathedral and down the stone corridor to crypts before he even realised; So wrapped up in thoughts of the past that he’d ended up right here. In front of the most painful reminder of them.

“I suppose I didn’t do a very good job of clearing my head, did I,  _ Mirielle _ ?” He whispered into the silence as he ran his fingers over the inscription of her name upon the bronze plaque. “I haven’t been here to see you since Jhuls came back to us. Isn’t that a blessing that he’s back?”

He closed his eyes, trying to conjure up the image of her face. The curl of her fingers as she tucked the short, strands of honey blonde behind her ears, as she smiled at him sweetly.

_ How marvellous, Pascalle _ . He tried to hear the words in her voice. But it was just his own voice that bounced back to him in the quiet of his mind. Who knew that it would only take eight years for the sound of her voice to become such a distant memory?

A not so distant memory came back to him then. Quite unbidden. Nasrinne, and her feathery laugh, teasing him as they stood by the hearth at the Forgotten Knight.  _ Never really what? Travelled by chocobo back? Ridden as far as Whitebrim? _

“I met his sister…” He told the soundless tomb. “I think you’d like her, although, she’s…  _ nothing _ like you. She says the most… inappropriate things for a woman. Not that she’s crude.” He didn’t know why he was defending Nasrinne to a ghost. “She loves her family, though. Like you did. Helps her brother-in-law carry deliveries around the Crozier.” He grinned to himself, “Oh, you’d laugh if you heard her and Jhuls. I don’t think I’ve watched anyone get the better of him so many times in one sitting…” The sound of his own laughter echoed back to him, and Pascalle’s smile faded as he opened his eyes, “The truth is, Mirielle… I’m afraid. I know. I’m a terrible coward… and I’m talking to myself…”

Still, he didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Not about  _ this _ . What a fine line he’d walked tonight with Nasrinne. He shouldn’t have said anything to her about his Father. He’d probably confused her even more.

“What should I do?” He asked the emptiness, furrowing his brow, leaning his forehead against the cold stone.

_ Everyone deserves to do the things that make them happy, Pascalle.  _ That’s what she’d told him on his twentieth name day, when she’d bought him all those charcoals and inks.

“It’s been a long time… since I had any cause to feel happy.” He replied to the memory. Pascalle pushed himself away from the grave with a heavy sigh. Though it was not a sorrowful one. It was a resolute sound. Perseverance. 

First, Gyr Abania was calling for him. Perhaps, after that, he could consider whether happiness was a luxury he could afford.

\----

**_Whitebrim; Coerthas_ **

Nasrinne was seated at the little writing desk which sat beneath the high window of her room. The sliver of pale sun that came through the narrow gap hit the desk at the perfect angle this time of sun, (mid-morning,) and so it was her favourite time to do any writing she had planned on finishing.

She bit her bottom lip delicately as she leaned back in her chair. Her inkpen in one hand, twirling it between her fingers while she held up a small scrap of parchment to the light.

It was a sketch. A side-profile of the Lord Commander de Borel. The likeness was very good, and Nasrinne was in all honesty, very impressed. She hadn’t drawn it. It had arrived yesterday tucked into the envelope alongside a letter from Ser Pascalle. There was also a nice sketch of some old statues and mountainside ruins, and one of a sprig of Rhalgr’s Streak, it’s long-leaves captured in such fine detail, she almost thought she could have plucked it off the page. She picked them up one by one, studying them again. Imagine being so grand and important you knew Aymeric de Borel well enough to find time to sketch a picture of him. Although, she thought as she furrowed her brow, her brother knew the Lord Commander too and she never thought him grand. She turned her eyes to the blank sheet of parchment she’d laid out for herself. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as a coy smile crept across her lips. Just a small one, as she dipped the nib in her ink pot and wrote the first lines.

_ Ser Pascalle, _

_ I am well pleased to hear all is as fortunate as can be in Gyr Abania. _

_ I am also quite happy to hear the marron glace arrived unscathed and you were able to enjoy them with your fellow knights. It was no trouble to send them. Tristione has been sending supplies to the front, as you must well know or else, I would not have received your letter. _

_ Thank you for the sketches you sent, they’re marvellous. Jhuls never told me that you had such a remarkable talent for art. _

Every member of the Filois family was light on their feet. It was necessary when you grew up breeding and breaking in battle chocobos.

“Well you never asked me.” Jhulayne’s said it casually over her shoulder, and Nasrinne jumped with a startled sound that was  _ almost _ like a squawk. Jhulayne laughed at her, before he began to read what she had written aloud quite theatrically.

“Thank you for the sketches… they’re  _ marvellous _ …”

“Oh. Stop it.” She tutted at her brother as she put her inkpen back in its stand. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you knock?”

“Well,  _ obviously _ I didn’t knock because I wanted to see if the letter Tristione delivered here yesterday with that begrudging look on his face was from Paz.” He grinned, “ _ And it was _ . Why didn’t you tell me you wrote to him?  _ And _ sent him marron glace no less.”

“Why should I tell you what I do with my free time?” She frowned, folding her arms across her chest and sighing. “Besides if I told you, you’d only  _ tease _ me and tell me I was in love with him.”

“You are in love with him.” Jhulayne shrugged, “I mean, you’re writing letters to him while he’s off at war. That’s what girls do when they’re in love with knights.”

“Don’t be daft. I just thought it might cheer him to hear some news from home. And the marron glace wasn’t just for him. I told him to share it.”

“You wouldn’t have had to. Paz just would have shared it. That’s what Pascalle is like.” Jhulayne walked around to stand at the side of her desk, picking up the sketches and glancing over them. “To be honest, he’s a damn sight better than he was when we were young. I suppose he must have kept it up…” He put the sketch of Lord Commander de Borel back down and gave her a serious look. “Anyway, I’m not here to tease you Little Bird. I need a favour.”

“ _ Oh _ ?” Nasrinne said, pursing her lips, and fixing him with a knowing stare, one eyebrow expectantly lofted as if to say;  _ What now? _

“Well, you know how I’ve sort of… been advising Count Artoriel and a few others here and there about Gridania and the Shroud…”

“You mean how you’ve become a politician now.”

“I’m not a politician.” Jhulayne replied indignantly. “Politicians are all idiots. I’m a diplomat… maybe… anyway. Shut up Nas, I’ve got a favour to ask you and it’s more important than your love letter to Paz.”

“It’s not a love letter!” Now it was her who sounded indignant.

“Whatever you say, Nasrinne.” Jhulayne waved his good hand dismissively, grinning broadly for a moment before the smile fell from his face.

“You remember Amandine Lanencourt?”

“Of course, I remember Amandine Lanencourt. She used to tell me I had a face shaped like a moon. She was awful.” Nasrinne scowled.

“She’s gone missing.”

“Oh.” She said softly, feeling a little guilty. “What do you mean she’s gone missing? Didn’t she leave Ishgard?”

“She did, she moved to UI’dah after the calamity. Her sister hasn’t heard from her for some time… I’m not sure what’s going on, Nas. But I want you to go and see if you can find her down there for me. Or some sign of her… I’ve just… I don’t know. I’ve been working on some missing persons reports with Artoriel already, people who went missing from the Shroud.”

Nasrinne’s head tilted to the side, her brow knitting together with concern as her brother spoke to her.

“Do you think there is a connection, Jhuls?”

“I don’t know, honestly. Could be Amandine’s just shacked up with some rich Ul’dahn boy and doesn’t want her sister to know about it. That’s why I want you to go have a look around for me.”

“Are you sending me to investigate a missing person? Jhulayne I’m not a knight. I don’t have any authority to do something like this.”

“No, but you’re a damn good liar. Even I don’t know when you’re lying sometimes.”

“You want me to  _ lie _ and say I  _ have _ that authority?” She asked him incredulously.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Little Bird. I want you to snoop about while you lie about why you’re in Ul’dah and lie about being a friend of Amandine’s wanting to check in on her while you’re visiting.”

“Oh well. Of course, I could do that.” She conceded immediately.

“So, will you?” He asked her, wearing a sober expression once more.

Nasrinne’s lips twisted into one of her droll little smiles as she looked at him.

“I’ve never been to Ul’dah yet.”

“So that’s yes?” He pressed her.

“Yes. Alright. When do I go?” She said with a solemn nod.

“Well, I’ll let you finish your letter to Pas first.” His teasing grin slipping back easily onto his face like it had never left his lips. “Why don’t you tell him to come meet you in Ul’dah for a romantic dinner.” He followed this with a lengthy  _ Oooo _ sound which made Nasrinne scowl.

“Get out.” She said to him. “I changed my mind I’m not helping such a tiresome brother.”

Empty threats and he knew it.

“I’m kidding, Nas. I’m kidding.” He laughed, “You’re too much of a good girl to go inviting handsome men to rendezvous with you in Ul’dah. Although if you  _ did _ , I’m so positive Pas would say yes, I’d wager a million gil on it.”

“Luckily,  _ you _ don’t have a million gil and I’m not going to do anything so foolish. So, you’ll never have to make that bet, dear brother.”

Jhulayne chuckled again, reaching out and placing his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Tristione has volunteered to ferry you there on the airship in a few sun’s time.”

“I’ll be ready to leave with it.” She nodded,

“I’ll let you get back to your letter.” He smiled wryly,

“I shan’t write it anymore you’ve been to mean to me.” She said to him, moving to crumple the page.

“No, don’t Little Bird. Send it.” He said it sharply, causing her to turn and look up at him again. “I know you’ve seen your share, Nas. But you’ve never seen  _ that _ . It’s nasty business, war. You’re right, it will do Pas a world of good to hear from home.” He said it with such sincerity. She knew he wasn’t teasing her anymore. “What a good sister you are.” He said planting a kiss on her temple before he turned to leave.

**_Whitebrim; Coerthas_ **

The last few moons had taken their toll on Pascalle. Weary from fighting, crestfallen having to return to Ishgard (and his father.) The trip to Whitebrim was cold, but it afforded him the first chance for some peace to think since his return. He was glad Jhulayne had requested he visit. If he was being honest with himself, Jhulayne was one of the only people he  _ wanted  _ to see. Well, Jhulayne and his sister. A smile crept across his face as he thought of her, and how much he had missed her while he was away; which was more than he’d expected. She had done him the enormous kindness of writing to him twice, and he had read her letters many more times than that during the long nights in Gyr Abania.  _ Will she be here? What should I say?  _ He shook his head and chuckled to himself. “No nerves on the battlefield, but one pretty face...” He murmured to himself as he and Andante approached the stone walls of the keep.

Behind those walls, Jhulayne sat at his desk and frowned, reading over the letter he’d received from Nasrinne two suns prior.

_ Jhuls, _

_ I’ve managed to ascertain the whereabouts of Amandine Lanencourt for you. She’s dead. _

_ I’ve been tracing her movements in the sennight before her disappearance according to the information you were given by her sister and what I managed to glean from her acquaintances here. She seems to have spent her last hours at the Gold Saucer. Though I’ve seen the report that the Flames have on file. There’s no mention of the Saucer anywhere. _

_ Either this means the guards are very stupid, or very involved. _

_ I’ll be having lunch with Master Hemmet, the Sergeant I mentioned in my last letter, later this sennight. I’ll do my best to prise something out of him before I do any more digging around the Saucer. _

_ Of course, I miss you terribly. Please send me news from home soon. _

_ Give Mother and Father a kiss for me, and tell Ygrinne to stop sending me hats, it’s far too hot here to wear them. _

_ – Little Bird _

If the words she had written on this paper were true, then he’d stumbled onto a much larger problem than he’d first realised.

He leaned back, letting out a heavy sigh. He had learned of Amandine’s death from her older sister before Nasrinne’s letter had arrived. Could the guard really be involved in all of this? Even if they weren’t, there was something about it that set Jhulayne’s gut cold. Something strange was afoot, strange and perhaps a touch more dangerous than he’d initially thought when he’d sent his little sister off to play investigator a moon and a half ago.

Still, he was about to remedy that problem right now. He glanced toward the clock on the mantlepiece of the study. Pascalle should be arriving any moment, the knight was usually always punctual, almost to a fault.

He turned his gaze toward the bottle of wine on the desk, his frown deepening as he flexed the fingers of his left hand. Gripping the slender glass neck, lifting it in his trembling grip. It was times like this that he missed his sister most of all. But it wouldn’t do to not have a glass of red waiting for his oldest friend. 

Just then there was a light rap at the door to his study, followed by the sound of Pascalle’s voice.

“Jhulayne, my friend. What took you so long to invite me over?”

Jhulayne turned to see him striding through the door, an eyebrow cocked in playful jest.

“Perfect timing, Paz.” He said with a laugh, “Come and take this off of me before I spill the bloody lot over the desk.” 

“My timing is always impeccable, as are my manners.” Pascalle replied with a slight smirk, taking the bottle to pour them each a glass.

“You’ll have to forgive me for tarrying, and also, because this isn’t really a social call…” Jhulayne’s smile turned a tad rueful as he handed him the glass. “But anyway. Sit, sit first. And tell me how the front fares in Gyr Abania.” He wasn’t careless to the burdens his friend would bring back with him from war. His mysterious hunches could wait a glass or two at least.

It was not long before numerous words had been exchanged on the futilities of war. Pascalle had not taken the time to speak about his time fighting since he had returned. (Rehashing those memories was not a pastime he was fond of.) After laying everything out in front of him, and to Jhulayne, he had quietly affirmed to himself he needed to walk another path.

“It's a terrible business, dealing with those Garleans.” Jhulayne shook his head, “But, by Halone’s grace you’ve returned to us, and I could not be more thankful for it, Paz. Honestly…” Jhulayne gave a glance toward the door. “You see… I’ve sort of stumbled into… well… Gods, Nas is right, I don’t have a mind for storytelling.”

_ Nasrinne _ however was a topic Pascalle was finding himself fond of. Especially after three glasses of wine. He leaned forward in his seat at the mention of her.

“I’ve gotten a bit messed up in this whole reformation business and the alliance and the new government.” Jhulayne continued, “I know, politics and me, it seems a bit…But, well, I suppose I did spend a fair few seasons in the Shroud and of course I picked up a bit here and there…” He furrowed his brow, wondering himself when he was going to get to the point.

“It’s also that my family have quite a good reputation with the other refugees you see… So, I seemed like a natural person to have a bit of a peek at the problem.”

He gave another sigh. Setting down his glass pushing Nasrinne’s letter towards Pascalle.

“Amandine Lanencourt is one of twelve refugees who have gone missing after resettling outside of Ishgard’s borders. I don’t know… it seemed a bit strange to me, Pas. Anyway, I told Artoirel I’d look into it, and I sent Nasrinne down to Ul’dah to see if she could perhaps find some trace of the missing Lanencourt girl… and… well. You can see what she found for yourself.” He drew in a deep breath, picked up his wine again, and took a long gulp.

“Anyway, fancy a trip to Ul’dah to see my sister? Artoirel will be able to see it cleared with de Borel for you. I mean, it’s still city business... in a way…”

“You sent Nasrinne to Investigate? By herself? You sent your little sister to Ul’dah, by herself to investigate a murder?” His tone was a touch disapproving.

“Well she’s got two hands, Pascalle.” Jhulayne shrugged,

“Are you sure she needs my assistance then?” Pascalle quipped wryly, “I mean of course, not that I don’t think she couldn’t take care of herself. I just mean… well. This says much more about you than it does about her, Jhuls.”

Jhulayne shook his head, chuckling as he took his friend's jibes in stride.

“No, look it’s a decidedly unbrotherly thing to do. Send your sister into the middle of a murder investigation. But in my defence, when I first sent her I thought it was just a case of a few runaway noble girls.” He took a sip of his wine, “Nasrinne knows better than anyone how tiring it can be playing the games at court. And I  _ know _ she can take care of herself or I’d never have sent her it’s just…” His lips drew into a thin, serious line behind the rim of his glass, “My sister might be a bard, but she’s not prone to exaggerate. If she thinks the guards might be compromising Ishgard’s investigations into missing citizens… well… that’s a serious enough allegation to warrant one of the Temple Knights having a look into it…” 

“If you believe Artoriel will be able to clear it with de Borel to let me galavant off to Ul’dah on a hunch about missing refugees, then.” Pascalle drank the last half of his glass in a single gulp. “Count me in.”

Jhulayne looked back toward his friend now with a devilish looking grin.

“Oh,  _ good _ . I’d feel an awful lot better if I knew it was you going along with her. I’m sure you’ll keep her out of trouble… and keep an eye on this… what was his name again?  _ Sergeant Hemmet _ ?” Jhulayne scoffed, glancing down at the letter again.

Pascalle studied him a moment as he tapped his index finger on the base on his glass, letting out a long hum.

“You know what I’d think,” He said as he leaned back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “ _ If I didn’t know any better _ , I’d think you’re attempting to have me pursue the favour of your sister.” This candour had come at the cost of four glasses of wine, and a slightly rosy flush across his cheeks. But for the first time in a long, long time Pascalle felt happy. It didn’t seem right to feel happy discussing murder and treason.

Jhulayne was not blind to the look in his friend’s eyes as he joked with him about these ulterior motives. It would be a complete lie to deny them, and Jhulayne had no wish to lie about it anyway.

“Well perhaps you don’t know any better, Pas.” He smirked, “What if that’s exactly what I’m trying to do?”

Quite unprepared to deliver an honest answer to that question, Pas looked down, fumbling with the papers in front of him

“Nasrinne is intelligent and inquisitive. If she believes that Ul’dah citizens and this, Hemmet fellow are compromising Ishgardian investigations, we should trust her instincts.” He said, changing the subject before looking up again. “Don’t worry Jhuls, I will go to her and keep her safe. We will find the truth.”

“How long will it take you to get your affairs in order here? Tristione’s got an airship bound for Ul’dah tomorrow morning…” Jhulayne asked him, still smirking.

Pascalle stood, catching himself on the back of his chair, the wine really had gone to his head.

“Get me in touch with Tristione, If the airship leaves tomorrow, so do I.”

Still, it wasn’t just the liquor that made him answer Jhulayne so eagerly, why stay a moment longer if he had a reason to escape Ishgard so soon?

\----


	7. Chapter 7

##  **Chapter 7**

**_The Goblet; Thanalan_ **

Six sennights beneath the warm Thanalan sun had been good for Nasrinne. It had brought a colour back to her cheeks that she hadn’t seen in many a moon. She leaned back into her chair as she listened to Sergeant Hemmet talk about the trouble they were having with the Limsan Seawolves and the Gladiator’s Guild.

“So, then I told Mylla they’re to report this business to the Flames and honestly, you know what she said to me?  _ What, so you can ignore it? _ ”

She wasn’t at all interested in what he was saying. But she was doing her very best to seem interested. She had the benefit of her sister’s countless commands ringing in the back of her mind to help her; _Don’t hold a gentleman’s eyes for too long, Nasrinne. But always remember to nod approvingly and_ ** _always_** _wear a smile. Not too broad, don’t show your teeth_. So, it wasn’t all that hard.

“As if she has any idea of the number of brigands and cutpurses that we deal with. Sun up, sun down. Not to mention half our men marching off to bloody Ala Mhigo to get butchered by the Garleans.”

“Civilians taking matters into their own hands is always troublesome. Just because you can swing a sword doesn’t make you a soldier, after all.” She nodded, perfectly aware of how hypocritical it was for her to say this, reaching for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table.

“Would you like another?” She asked with a smile (one that didn’t show her teeth, of course.)

“Oh, well…” Hemmet, glanced at the previous bottle of wine they had already emptied. “I’ve already put enough of your coin in my belly,  _ Naz _ .”

_ Twelve help me. _ She thought as she listened to the nickname. Every time he said it, it reminded her of Pascalle of course. She could hear her brother mentioning the knight casually to her.  _ Paz this. Paz that. _

“I bought it to share, Master Hemmet!” She laughed. It wasn’t a  _ real _ laugh. It was a very good impression of a girlish giggle. She loathed the sound of it almost as much as she loathed hearing about all the boring brigands and bandits Hemmet was responsible for bringing to justice. “Please, I was planning on having another too.” The crux of the matter. It wasn’t very ladylike to pour herself another glass if her guest wasn’t having one. And Nasrinne  _ needed _ another glass of wine right now.

“Well, don’t temper your own excess on account of me!” Hemmet grinned. Blissfully unaware of the problem he was causing her. Ul’dah was known as something of a city of excess after all. Or as Ygrinne called it, a city of  _ sin _ .

“No, no. I insist. You absolutely should have another. You’ve got the whole afternoon off, don’t you?”

Nasrinne was in the middle of offering Hemmet another glass of wine when they heard the knock at the door.

“Well, I hope you weren’t expecting someone else for lunch, Naz, because we’ve almost eaten all of it.” He said with a chuckle looking around at the half-empty plates of roasted dodo tenderloins, bowls of salads and platters of bread and cheese scattered about the table.

“It’s probably just one of Lord de Vernisse’s servants with a message from my family back home.” She said to him, careful not to mention the fact that Tristione was her brother-in-law. That was information the Sergeant didn’t need to have about her. “Excuse me a minute, Hemmet.”

“Gods. I hope my sister hasn’t sent me any more fur hats.” She called to him, grinning, as she threw open the door. Then her face turned back toward her unexpected guest and her heart skipped a beat.

“ _ Oh _ .” Came the breathy gasp from her lips, “Ser Pascalle.”

_ Halone, help me. _ She prayed in her mind. Trying to steady the rapid beating of her heart as she looked up into his piercing blue eyes.  _ Jhulayne, when I get back to Coerthas, I am going to cut off your other hand. _

“Halone be praised, it’s a blessing to see you at my door hale and healthy.” Was what she said, of course.

Pascalle hadn’t known what he expected to feel when she opened the door. He had spent the trip from Ishgard reminding himself he was here to assist in Jhulayne’s investigation on behalf of the Temple Knights. He was  _ not _ here to fraternize with his sister.

But now he was here. Standing face to face with her. Half a world away from anyone he knew. And he knew how he felt. She was a shining light in his weary existence.

“Lady Nasrinne.” When he said her name, it felt more like he was saying a prayer than a greeting. She was dressed for the weather, of course, in a soft cream bilaud that she’d gathered about her waist with a dark, blue cinch. It was nothing like the thick, heavy layers of wool and fur worn in Ishgard.

“You look perfectly… radiant.”

_ He said that. Out loud. _ He could tell because of the slight widening of her eyes. Which must have been a match for his own, “The weather here in Ul’dah seems to agree with you!” He added quickly, trying to save himself, and her, the flush of awkward, rosy, unease creeping along the tapered tips of both their ears.

“Please, come in.” She said. Finally pulling her gaze away from his, fiddling with a stray lock of hair suddenly. “Does this mean you’ve finished with your duties on the Ala Mhigan front?”

“Thank you. Yes, the Gyr Abania operation is done with, thank the Fury. It’s other duties that have sent me here to Ul’dah. Your brother–” 

“Master Hemmet!” She cut Pascalle off, turning toward the Sergeant sat at the table. “Allow me to introduce you to Ser Pascalle, a most honoured Temple Knight of Ishgard.”

It was only at the mention of Jhulayne that Nasrinne had remembered Hemmet. The Sergeant quite forgotten while under the spell of those ice-blue eyes. But the last thing she needed was for Pascalle to mention her brother’s investigation, and she had a  _ sneaking _ suspicion that was why he was there.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ser Pascalle.” Hemmet said to him with a smile that while not  _ unfriendly _ , was still tight-lipped.

“Master Hemmet is a new acquaintance of mine. A Sergeant with the Flames here in Ul’dah.”

“It is an honour to meet one of the men on the ground doing the real work, Master Hemmet.” He paused a few steps from the door as his eyes fell upon the man and the table before him with its devoured feast and bottles of wine. “I hope I’m not intruding. If I’ve come at an inopportune time, I could return later after perusing the market perhaps?”

“No, of course not.” She said shook her head, “Please, make yourself comfortable, Ser Pascalle. Have a seat. I’ll fetch another glass for you. You were saying something about my brother?” She glanced up at his face as she passed him on her way to the kitchen. There was a look in her eyes that said clearly;  _ Be careful what you say next _ .

Of course, unbeknownst to her, Pascalle already knew all about  _ Master Hemmet _ and why he was here from her brother.

“Jhuls said you were planning on a long stay. Enjoying the weather or some such.” Pascalle said to her with a broad, casual smile. “I was hoping it might be alright to leave my things here while I get my bearings of the city.” He gestured to his satchel and travel bags.

Nasrinne had only heard him lie once before, about rolanberry tart. But  _ this _ lie was even better than that one. Even  _ she _ believed his off-the-cuff performance.

“Well of course. Anything for a friend of my brother’s.” She replied, standing on her tip toes to reach the cupboard with the wine glasses.

Hemmet’s eyes moved from watching Nasrinne in the kitchen to look at Pascalle intently as he took his seat. As if he was sizing up a potential rival.

“So, you were out on the front lines eh?”

“That’s right.” Pascalle nodded before reaching for the carafe of water on the table, “I am absolutely parched after walking in this heat.” He said, pouring himself a glass and dodging the question about the Ala Mhigan assault. It was not something he was keen to discuss with a man he barely knew.

“I suppose it wasn’t so much for a Temple Knight to handle. You lot slay dragons, don’t you?”

_ This Sergeant. _ He thought to himself. It was true he may have come here with preconceived notions about him, but he was asking all the wrong questions for Pascalle’s liking.

He finished the glass in just three large gulps, placing it down on the table with a firm  _ clunk  _ before he looked at Hemmet.

“Not anymore, Master Hemmet.” Nasrinne interjected, saving Pascalle from saying something that would have most certainly been impolite. “Nidhogg is no more and Ishgard is at peace with the dragons. They’ve already written songs about it.”

It hadn’t taken Pascalle long to acclimatize to the heat, having been fighting on the dusty scorched battlefield that was Gyr Abania only sennights ago. Compared to wearing a Temple Knights full plate, the linen shirt and hide he wore felt like blessing from the Fury to him.

If we’re honest it felt like a blessing to Nasrinne too. She’d never say it aloud, though. But the short sleeves of his shirt left the toned, sculpted muscles of his arms. And the light fabric made the proud swathe of his shoulders quite visible. Even sitting down, she couldn’t help but notice how he dwarfed the sandy-haired Hyur sitting across from him. (Hemmet was not that much taller than Nasrinne, and Nasrinne was quite short for an Elezen.)

“Did you want the red or the white, Ser Pascalle?” She smiled. (With teeth showing, although she didn’t realise it.)

_ That smile _ . He gave a secret sigh as he saw that smile.

“The red, thank you, Lady Nasrinne.” Pascalle could feel Hemmet’s shrewd gaze upon them as she leaned forward to pour the wine.

“Surely, you’ve written a dozen ballads of dragons by now?” He asked, trying to make casual conversation to distract himself from the delicate scent of her perfume.

“Oh, I tried to pen a few when I was younger… but, I daren’t call any of them good.” She said with a little shake of her head, avoiding looking him in the eye as she spoke.

“Well, I would love to hear a rendition of your new works sometime.”

_ Why was his voice so perfectly sweet to her ears? Why did it have to have such a pleasing timbre? And why did he use it with such pretty pleasantries? _

Nasrinne had no romantic interest in Hemmet, but she knew she had to at least  _ pretend _ to have  _ something _ of an interest in him. And she had a feeling she’d been doing a much better job of that before Pascalle de Dubois had shown up unannounced on her doorstep.

“Perhaps Master Hemmet and I can perform a duet for you after we finish our drinks?” She said, looking over at the Sergeant with a winsome smile her lips were not used to wearing.

“You’re a musician as well as Sergeant?” Pascalle pushed aside the flicker of jealousy he felt as Nasrinne made eyes at Hemmet. Although, it was stupid for him to feel jealous. That was hardly the Nasrinne he knew sitting on the opposite side of the table. If anything, it was her very best impersonation of her sister Ygrinne. In truth, it was adorable in a way. If you didn’t know better, you’d think Nasrinne enjoyed life as an Ishgardian noble.

“Yes, Master Hemmet is quite talented with the lute.” Nasrinne lied. Hemmet was average at best.

“That’s how we met, actually.” Hemmet said with a cocksure smirk, “We performed a duet together, didn’t we Naz?”

_ Naz? _ Pascalle had to use all his self-restraint to keep his forehead from creasing with weariness. He knew Hemmet’s type. Slimy. Took the job as a guard and wheedled his way into dinner parties with nobility. Take a few gil to turn a blind eye to their crimes. He had probably just learned the lute to try and woo women at the taverns.

“We did.” Nasrinne was still smiling coyly at the Sergeant. “He’s offered to help introduce me to a few nobles here in the city with a love of the musical arts.”

“I have. But you seem to have your heart set on getting a performance at the Saucer…” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m telling you  _ Naz _ , the money won’t even be that good.”

Pascalle’s lips drew into a thin line as he watched the way Hemmet’s eyes wandered across Nasrinne’s face.

“Well the Saucer is known Eorzea wide, playing there would surely cement you as a talent to be reckoned with.” He gave Nasrinne a wink. It was a shameless thing to do, really. “And what’s a few gil compared to prestige? Surely any bard worth their salt would be clawing for glory over gil?” One silver brow lofted ever so slightly as he took a sip of his wine.

If Nasrinne had any inclination as to the veiled game the two men were playing at, each of them attempting to size up the other’s place in her affections, she showed absolutely no sign of it. The truth was, she didn’t notice it. Her mind was far too busy wrestling with her heart, which had been set abuzz again after that  _ wink _ from Pascalle. He was right, a few successful performances at the private clubs in the Saucer and she’d be fending off invitations from nobles. But she couldn’t just go agreeing with him. Not if she wanted to do her job properly and work Hemmet for information.

_ Get it together, Nasrinne _ . She scolded herself.

“Oh, I think Master Hemmet just has my best interests at heart.” She said with a soft little sigh. Almost,  _ sultry _ .

“Aye, that’s right.” Hemmet laughed, smiling back at her as he leaned his chin casually upon his hand.

Pascalle had never heard Nasrinne sigh like that before. He felt a twisting in his chest as he looked down at the table, gently placing the fine crystal glass down upon it. He kept recalling the sound of it all through the duet the two of them performed. He was of the private opinion that it was Nasrinne who carried the performance. Hemmet was all lofty ambition, he was no bard. Still, he commended them both equally.

Perhaps Nasrinne was fond of this Hemmet. He found himself thinking in the back of his mind. Perhaps he was wrong and he was a marvellously talented lutist who could speak with her about music and song, and all the magic that she made with them. To make matters worse, the Sergeant  _ obviously _ had eyes for Nasrinne. A fact he was now realising he would find difficult to abide.

The afternoon sun was low in the sky by the time the Sergeant left. Nasrinne waited until she was certain he was well out of ear shot, down the street, before finally emitting a loud groan as she closed her apartment door. 

“I thought he’d never leave.” Then she spun around to face Pascalle.

“What are you doing here? Why did Jhulayne send you now? And without telling me? Halone help me, I almost fainted when I saw that it was you at my door. Although Halone must have sent you to save me from the misery I orchestrated for myself by inviting Hemmet over for lunch.”

“I was so happy to see you there I could have ki-” She realised she was very likely to say something she’d regret if she didn’t  _ reign it in _ . “...kicked Hemmet out on the spot.” She cleared her throat lightly behind her hand and glanced off to the side at one of the elegant sandstone pillars that decorated the living space, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

“But, I couldn’t obviously. I’m going to need him to get me to the right people in the Saucer, so…” She trailed off.

“I for one, wished you had kicked him out on the spot.” He replied retrieving his satchel from where he’d left it by the door. Feeling a flood of relief as he looked at her. This was the Nasrinne Pascalle knew. Animated, filled with an eagerness that was just barely tempered by those sudden bouts of practiced meekness that Ishgard drilled into every bright-eyed little girl. “It seems he is fond of you. What was it he kept calling you?  _ Naz _ ?” He teased, mimicking the Sergeants inflection. Although he knew there was a shade of jealousy hidden beneath his playful banter. He set the bag on the edge of the table, unfastening the clasps.

“He’s  _ supposed _ to be fond of me.” She told him matter-of-factly, as she cleared away the plates and glasses. “How else will I spy on the city guard?”

“Well. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He couldn’t help the truth from slipping out. The edge of his lip curling upwards slightly as he tried to hold back the smile that accompanied it. “Besides, you’re right. You do need him to be fond of you.” He said very quickly, “It doesn’t matter if I like it or not.” He shook his head.

In the kitchen, stacking the plates on the sideboard, Nasrinne felt her stomach give another giddy flip. She almost gasped. She had to catch herself and draw a sharp breath through her nose before she came to stand by his side again at the table.

“This is why I’m here.” He slapped the wad of documents on the space she had made, fanning them out. “Jhuls sent me to assist you in your investigations.”

Nasrinne looked down at the pages. The letter she had written her brother was amongst them, along with the missing person’s reports she’d seen before she’d left Ishgard.

“I expressly told him to send word of my arrival…” Pascalle was imagining the brazen grin on his face when he confronted him about this later. Jhulayne had gotten the better of the both of them, and he was many, many malms away in Coerthas.

“I haven’t been using a linkpearl, so no doubt if he did send word, it won’t arrive for another few suns.” She lifted her face again, and their eyes met. The smile that had already been threatening to bloom crept across his face as he found himself lost in those deep, indigo eyes of hers.

“Truly, my heart is filled with such gladness at seeing you again.” That was the second time he’d unwittingly spoken his thoughts aloud.

“ _ Oh _ .” The sound issued breathily from her lips, as so often happened when she was surprised. “Oh. I mean, thank you. Of course, likewise, Ser Pascalle.”

She looked at him for a second that seemed to magically stretch into a minute. Even though it didn’t really at all. Then it was as if they both had suddenly been bitten by something, each looking away startled down toward their hands, and the papers and the floor.

“Anyway...” He cleared his throat, “Perhaps you can fill me in on the details of this treason and refugee business?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”  _ For Halone’s sake, Nasrinne. _ “Well, I’m sure Jhulayne told you already that there’s been twelve disappearances. Eight of them have gone missing here, from Ul’dah. But there were four who disappeared from the Shroud.” She licked her lips, “Twelve people is not a lot of people, it’s true. But… the strange thing is, they all started to go missing shortly after we re-joined the Alliance.”

“Twelve poor souls are missing, that’s all I need to know we need to help.” He said it with such sincerity. He really was a terribly honourable man. It was no wonder he was a knight. She watched as Pascalle removed a pair of glasses from his pocket, sliding the neat, silver rims up the bridge of his nose and picking up one of the reports. She hadn’t known he wore glasses to read. She thought they looked sweet, perched there across the bridge of his nose.

She turned away, walking to the bookshelf so he couldn’t see the smile upon her lips. It was terribly inappropriate to be  _ smiling _ while they were talking about  _ missing people _ . Her fingers skipped along a set of encyclopedias, pulling out the one third from last. She set the heavy leather tome down on the table and flipped it open.

_ Apparently _ , it was not an encyclopedia at all. Or at least, not anymore. Nasrinne had carved out a hollow in the pages. Hiding away her notes and findings on the investigation.

Pascalle raised his brow as he realised what was happening. “My that is devious of you, Lady Nasrinne.” He laughed partly because he was taken aback at the ingenuity, and partly because she had this right under Hemmet’s nose. “How delightfully cunning.”

“Well, I do try, Ser Pascalle.” She said as he complimented her deceptive little hidey hole. Said it with a lilt and a smirk so like her brother. The two truly had been an enormously formative influence on one another.

“I’ve been trying to find a pattern. All of them are Ishgardian. Most of them are nobles from quite minor houses. Or at least they’re members of previously well-to-do mercantile families…” She sighed, twisting a lock of raven hair about her finger as she looked again at her notes on Amandine Lanencourt.

“The only other thing they seem to have in common is that they’re all dead. Well, at least the ones I’ve been able to find so far.”  _ What about the others though? _ She wondered.  _ Were they already corpses somewhere? _

“There are discrepancies between the reports the flames have passed to Ishgard and the information I’ve gathered here doing groundwork. Locations the deceased were present at which are not mentioned or recorded incorrectly… the description of their clothing not matching the recollections of those who last saw them…” She counted her observations off on her fingers as she spoke as was so often her habit. “Of course, these aren’t major things, I know.” She looked up at him again, quite earnestly, “But there’s just too many minor things to overlook…”

“How many have turned up, the ones that have died?” He leaned with both arms on the table, over the papers, turning his face to meet Nasrinne’s. He was just as uneasy at the thought of his countrymen going missing in foreign lands.

“Three. I’ve been able to find out about three, including Amandine. But…” She searched amongst the papers from Jhulayne for the papers on Fabrice Rougecarpe. “Amandine was seen in the company of this gentleman at the Saucer in a private room. The Violet Lounge. I’m not one hundred percent on the dates, but it seems like he was reported missing before she was… I really need to get the timeline straight. That’s why I’m planning to visit the Saucer under the guise of trying to secure a performance there…”

“There is naught we can do but scrutinize every detail with a fine-tooth comb.” 

\----

  
They had been speaking about her half-cocked theories surrounding the investigation for some time. (They could only be half-cocked because there simply wasn’t enough information for any of them to be more than just a hunch or an educated guess.)

Still, the breeze had turned cold, and the moon rose high into the starry Thanalan sky. It was late, she realised. Nasrinne shook her head lightly, glancing up toward the pair of panelled doors which led out to the small courtyard.

“I should close that.” She said absent-mindedly, before glancing back to Pascalle. It was strange now that she thought about it, she had really only met him a handful of times. Perhaps it was because he was a friend of Jhulayne’s, and one her brother spoke so highly of, but she didn’t feel quite as nervous as she expected herself to. Being alone. With him.

Well, unless he graced her with one of his stupidly, dashing smiles, or paid her a compliment she wasn’t used to hearing, like;  _ You look perfectly... radiant _ . Then she was always terrified that she would swoon, but Nasrinne was quite good at hiding how she felt, most of the time.

“Anyway, we’ve just about talked ourselves in circles with this business.” She gestured to the papers upon the table as she stood from her chair.

“Yes, we seem to have hit a bit of a dead end.” He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair and down his neck, stifling a yawn with the other.

“And you’re probably tired after travelling all the way from Ishgard. Why don’t I make us some tea?” She strolled over towards the doors, tugging them closed and fastening the bolts. “I’m afraid they don’t have the kind we’re used to. I don’t think you’re supposed to add milk though. The nobles here seem to take it with sun lemon. I think I’ve got one in the pantry somewhere...” She trailed off, looking back over her shoulder, biting down on her bottom lip again at the sight of him in his neat little spectacles.

“...Or we could open another bottle of wine. Lohmani Rosso is much easier to come by in this climate, you know.” She gave him a little lopsided shrug of her shoulders and a smile to match it.

“Lohmani Rosso? I wouldn’t say no.” He took his glasses off and rubbed his weary eyes before setting them back on his nose. “We could use the break.” Unsurprisingly to him, Nasrinne’s theories had been well thought out and carefully considered.

“Why is it you never became a knight? You obviously have the talent.”

Nasrinne laughed from where she stood in the kitchen, opening the bottle of red.

“Haven’t you met my sister, Ser Pascalle?” She asked playfully, knowing full well that he had, of course. “I shouldn’t imagine you need much more of an answer to your question than that.”

“Point taken.” He grinned at the apt response. Watching her; black hair of silk, her head held high, her every movement made with effortless grace.

“Did Jhulayne ever tell you about the time when he snuck a crate of Lomani Rosso from the commissary?” He asked her as she returned with their drinks. Privately enjoying the feeling as their fingers briefly touched when she handed him the glass.

Nasrinne privately enjoyed this too, in fact, she had enjoyed it so much she couldn’t muster up the courage to look at him again until she had perched herself at one end of the lounge, and he had sunk into the arm chair opposite.

“No. I don’t believe he has. My brother, pinching things from the commissary?” She pretended to be shocked, before a peal of merry laughter left her lips. “I can always use something new to tease Jhuls about. Are you going to do me the honour then?”

“Well.” He took a sip of wine, “I was still just a lowly squire, nearly at the end of my training.”

“A  _ lowly squire _ .” She repeated, tongue-in-cheek. It was of course a paradoxical thought. Imagining Pascalle as anything other than the exceedingly well-mannered and well-bred knight whose acquaintance she had made a few moons ago. He gave her one of his roguish smiles,

“Can’t be that hard to imagine, I’m friends with your brother.”

“Ah, you have me there, Ser Pascalle.” She laughed, “Please, continue.”

“It was after a particularly rough sun of drills just out past Owl’s Nest. They made us hike the whole way there, and back again.” He sighed, shaking his head as a slight grimace creased his brow.

“I won’t ever miss that. But, I digress, when we returned to Foundation dreadfully exhausted our clothes soiled, Jhul’s suggested we open a few bottles to unwind.  _ Because we’ve earned it, Paz. _ ” He Imitated Jhulayne’s manner of speaking. Eliciting another delighted giggle from her. (It was quite a good impression.) Pascalle grinned at her again.

“As was his most common excuse.” He gave a dry laugh. “It wasn’t long we had drained every drop. Because I might be a frothy drunk, but your brother isn’t.”

Nasrinne leaned forward with a wry grin. Leaning her cheek on her palm. Truth be told, Pascalle was wonderful storyteller. He spoke with such lively, animated expressions crossing his face.

“And,  _ somehow _ , he convinced me to go see Mirielle… and see if her Father had any wine, which he could spare for us  _ lowly squires _ .” He gave a conceding shrug, his smile a little sheepish. “I should say… I wasn’t exactly opposed to the plan. So off we went. And arrived reeking of alcohol and still covered in mud…” Pascalle twisted the stem of the glass in his fingers absentmindedly. Looking past her as he spoke. He didn’t mean to seem distant, or cold. It just happened that way. The memories were bittersweet. “We must have been a sorry sight. She should have been angry. But, bless her memory, Mirielle was never angry.”

Nasrinne knew that expression, she’d seen herself wearing it sometimes. Caught it in her reflection during those five terrible years when she thought she’d never see Jhuls again. She felt a pang of guilt, that providence had delivered her brother back to her. But Pascalle would never see his Mirielle again.

“Your brother tracked his muddy boots all over the rug in the hall…”

“She sounds like she was a wonderfully kind woman, if she can tolerate Jhulayne when he’s drunk.” She said it softly.

“She was.” He looked straight at her then, with a sudden, gentle smile. (He couldn’t know it, but it stopped her heart, that smile.)

“So, she went down into the cellar and got us a bottle of the old Rosso. I apologised, Jhulayne thanked her and we were on our way.” He paused to take another sip of wine and she bit her lip as she looked down to her own drink.

“Of course, that bottle too was gone before long.  _ Thankfully _ Jhulayne had decided it was the time to stop drinking. But he would not stop telling me he needed to repay Mirielle.” That wayward smile was creeping back across his face. “After some discussion we decided we should replace the wine. Now as you know, it’s not particularly easy to come across Lohmani Rosso in Ishgard.” Now Pascalle bit  _ his _ lip, scratching his head, clearly a touch embarrassed about his role in this story. “We,  _ uh _ . Well, we happened to be walking by the commissary.” He said with the beginnings of a laugh, “And I may have distracted the officer for Jhuls. Your brother tiptoed right behind him– You can’t blame me for this. You know your brother is a terrible influence,” The sound left his lips to dance in his eyes. Pascalle was nearly in tears.

“ _ Your brother _ snuck past with a  _ whole crate _ of Lohmani Rosso  _ and _ a wheel of blue cheese. In his mouth… I did tell him he was only supposed to grab one bottle.” He wiped a tear from his cheek as he finished the last mouthful of wine from his glass.

“Now Pascalle, that doesn’t sound like my brother at all.” Nasrinne said with mock indignation, “Jhulayne, helping himself to a bishop’s cheese?” Then she burst into laughter, unable to maintain her straight face any longer. “Gods, that sounds exactly like Jhulayne. He is a terrible influence, you can’t be held responsible for him. No one can.” Her laughter died to a sigh.

“Honestly though, hiking past Owl’s Nest and back again? No wonder Yggy didn’t want me to become a knight.” She finished the last of her wine with her sister’s voice ringing in her ears _. Nasrinne, a lady should not pour herself a second glass of wine before her guests have finished theirs. _

“Did you want me to top your glass up, Pas?”  _ There you go Ygrinne. A perfect hostess. _ She was feeling a bit smug about it until she realised how familiar she sounded. 

“I’m sorry, Ser Pascalle. That was terribly disrespectful of me. I’m not one of your brothers in arms after all, I should use the right honorifics.” Maybe she shouldn’t have drunk so much wine at lunch. Perhaps she shouldn’t be drinking anymore wine now. No. It was too late for that. Now she  _ definitely _ needed the wine. She busied herself pouring a second glass, even though it probably wasn’t the smartest choice. “Although I am sure that would get very tiresome on the battlefield, if you were always having to remember to say Commander SoandSo and Ser SuchandSuch all the time... Jhulayne never made it past… oh what was it? Corporal? Which was fine, because no one in the Coerthas Highlands cared too much what rank he was. I’m sure it's much more difficult being a Temple Knight than a House Knight…”

_ Fury help me _ . She begged herself in her mind, she was rambling.

“Nasrinne,” He said her name plainly, cutting off the stream of rubbish she’d been blathering. Saving her from her own misery really. “I should say we’re friends by now. Please, call me Pas.” 

She hadn’t even noticed him move toward her, but his hand was upon her arm. She looked up at him, painfully aware of the timorous expression in her eyes, even though she couldn’t see it.

It  _ should  _ have been a gentle, reassuring touch. Like the gently reassuring smile, and the tender way he spoke the words. But there was nothing reassuring about the tingling feeling that persisted across her skin after his hand had left it.

“Another glass would be lovely. Are you sure you’re related to Jhulayne? He would always be the one demanding someone else pour.”

Nasrinne laughed at his joke at the expense of her brother. It helped her put the memory of his touch to the back of her mind.

“Yes, well, he has an excuse now, so he’ll forever be getting away at having everyone else fetch and carry his wine for him.”

“You know, sometimes I think he’s lucky to have been able to follow his own path.” He realised suddenly that it was a bit cruel to call Jhulayne’s path lucky… “Though, the price he paid was high.” 

“Jhuls has always been lucky in some ways…” Nasrinne shrugged, seemingly unperturbed by the comment. “But then in others… I mean even aside from the obvious.” (She was of course referencing his lost sword hand.)

“My eldest brother, Karlyne, he died before I was born… but he was apparently a wonder to watch on the battlefield. Jhuls always tried hard, but he’s not a gifted knight…” Her lips twisted into something of a guilty smile as she said it. After all, it wasn’t the kindest thing to say about your brother. “Jhulayne’s not good at fighting because he’s too good at putting people at ease. He’ll make a perfect diplomat.”

“Jhuls has a very kind soul. I’m starting to think it’s a trait that runs in the Filois family.” Pascalle sighed, mulling over his thoughts before he gave them voice. “My father always said one man cannot make a difference and we should accept the course we're on. I always thought that was ignorant. I say whatever world we envisage we can make.” He finished the rest of the wine in his glass, the distracted gaze he had worn while speaking of Mirielle returning to his eyes.

_ Arteux Dubois is a dangerous man...With a warped sense of righteousness. _ His words, all those moons ago at her sister’s came back to her. Pushed herself to the forefront of her mind. Pascalle didn’t like his Father. That much was plain. But  _ why _ ? Nasrinne wanted to ask, but even if they were  _ friends _ by now. She didn’t have the courage to ask him. Even with all the wine. So instead, she listened to his words, taking them literally, and with no thought as to why Atreux de Dubois would tell his son something so cynical, when his son was a  _ Temple Knight _ . 

“Well history proves you right, Pas. And your Father wrong. The world our forefathers built was nothing other than the world they envisaged. It wasn’t even true, either.”

He watched her make one of her haphazard little shrugs.

“The thing is… I’ve been thinking a lot. Since returning from the front…” He sighed, “I need freedom to move in a new direction… find something real, and true again. In the eons of history, a few thousand years of society is a blip, nothing more. I’m not sure Ishgard has much left there for me anyway... I’m not sure if I want to spend my time finding a way to prop up hundreds of years of lies and prejudice...” He was surprised with himself, speaking so openly, broaching topics he would never normally. Not even with someone he knew well. He realised Nasrinne, who had finished her wine and was once more headed to the kitchen, may not be so receptive to all of this sudden, candid talk of his. After all, her brother was about to become a Diplomat in the new government. Perhaps she was happy to sit and wait and see if  _ change _ could really come to a people who had known nothing but a pointless war for centuries.

“Really, I should stop now, I’m sorry if listening to my unpatriotic musings has been a bother for you Nasrinne. It’s just... I find it ever so easy to speak to you.”

Pascalle sighed, shaking his head as he looked at his empty glass.

“Nonsense. Don’t stop now.” She said to him picking up the bottle of wine from the kitchen counter again. “No one ever wants to talk about politics with me. Because, as Jhuls tells me _ , I’m a radical _ .”

This time she just dispensed with pretending like they weren’t going to finish the whole thing and brought it back to the coffee table.

“Although it’s not very hard to be a radical in Ishgard. You just have to think it’s stupid your sister doesn’t get invited to many dinner parties anymore because her husband’s ears are round.” She rolled her eyes. “Or that your niece had to go and marry a Wildwood trader in the Shroud because her ears aren’t long enough.” Nasrinne rolled her eyes.

“I’ve read the Enchiridion cover to cover you know.  _ Twice _ .” She poured him another glass without bothering to ask if he wanted one. “Not just the nice psalms or the fun parts about the dragons either.” She added, pouring her own now. “The whole thing. It doesn’t say anything in their about it being wrong to fall in love with a man with round ears and marry him and have little short eared children.  _ I checked _ .”

“Tristone, by all accounts seems to be a good man. The idea that his and Ygrinne’s children are any lesser is outdated and, quite frankly, absurd.” He shook his head again, frowning. “You’re right though, it’s not very hard to be a radical in Ishgard…”

She put the almost-empty bottle down on her coffee table and curled up like a cat in her seat again, cradling the glass close to her chest,

“So, is that why you came to help me here in Ul’dah?” She asked him quietly, “To see if the freedom to move in your own direction agrees with you?”

“It is why I came. That, and Jhuls basically begged me to come and keep an eye on this Sergeant Hemmet you were writing him about.” He joked.

“Well, I’m glad you came. Not just so I have a friend to talk about politics with. You know you’re terribly easy to talk to, too. I quite enjoy our conversations.”

The winsome smile she had worn for Sergeant Hemmet had been pretty, and plenty appealing. But it couldn’t hold a candle to the way she smiled now. This broad grin, with its shine that lit up her eyes.

“Good, because right now, I’d not be anywhere else.” The wine was catching up with him. Or the subtle warm feeling that stirred his heart each time he looked at her was.

“ _ Oh _ .” Nasrinne glanced down toward her glass to hide the flush of her cheeks, fiddling absently with a strand of hair, the tips of her ears turning pink. “Oh. I should… make sure there is bedding and a lamp in the other room… You can’t sleep on the lounge after all, you’re far too tall for it.” She said as she sprang from her seat, eager to utilise the clever excuse to remove herself from his presence before she did anything awkward.

_ You’re not here to flirt with your friend’s sister, remember? _ Pascalle reprimanded himself as he watched her rush up the stairs. But it was a very half-hearted rebuke.

\----


	8. Chapter 8

##  **Chapter 8**

**_Sapphire Avenue Exchange; Uldah_ **

Nasrinne had left the apartment earlier that morning, off to meet Sergeant Hemmet on one of his breaks. The thought of the two of them chatting casually brought with it that familiar twinge of jealousy. He could picture the delicate tilt of her head as she played with her hair. He frowned to himself. It wasn’t just that he didn’t like the Sergeant. (Though, he didn’t like him.) Or that he didn’t like the idea of Nasrinne being alone with him. (Although, he didn’t like that either.)

No, the frown was borne not just from his juvenile feelings of envy. It was because Hemmet was stonewalling them. Well, to be more specific he was stonewalling Nasrinne. For as far as they were aware, he had no inkling as to the truth behind her desire to visit The Gold Saucer. Pascalle assumed the Guardsman was just dragging things out as long as possible to pull every trick he could to get into her good graces.

He’d been mulling over other avenues they might try. After all, Hemmet wasn’t the only one with friends in lofty places. In a city this size, why there would be plenty of potential contacts who could help them find a way into one of those elusive private lounges or suites.

So, that was what he set out to do.

Pascalle was a noble, he knew plenty about the sort of things which the upper crust of Ul’dah might covet. Opulent things, luxurious things, exotic things. Things of a nature that had never held much interest to Pascalle, though he’d grown up surrounded by them.

His Mother, however, had loved to gift him those sorts of trinkets. Especially jewellery. Antique jewellery was something of a passion of Patrice’s. (Likely one of the few passions his father permitted she indulge in.) But Pascalle had always made an effort to take an interest in it. He’d picked up a little of her knowledge as a result. His Mother was a wealth of facts about old Ishgardian techniques, and she’d bought him a few rings in the antique style.

The thing was, he  _ hated _ wearing rings. They were nothing but a nuisance for a knight. Always getting in the way. He was hoping to part with a few pieces in exchange for some useful conversation.

There was no doubt that Ul’dah was a beautiful city. Perhaps it was the combination of the warm sunshine that kissed all the bare limbs of the beautifully dressed people that he passed, or the way the sun cast the sandstone buildings in shades of gold. Whatever it was, Pascalle had found he had taken a liking to the place.

After a few conversations with jewellers in the main square, he acquired the name of a place that dealt in rare and bespoke jewellery.  _ Tojori’s Gems _ . It was down a small side street, off of the main strip. The shop itself didn’t look like a lot from the outside, a small building with even smaller windows and a door that Pascalle had to stoop to step through.

But once you were inside, it was like you had stepped through a portal. The hardwood floors were dark, and polished to an almost mirror like sheen. Handsome cabinets of wood and glass lined the walls. There were tables, covered in plush velvet cushioning and adorned with glimmering rings and shimmering pendants.

“Welcome to Tojori’s Gems, good Ser.”

“Thank you.” Pascalle said, turning his face to look for the speaker, it took him a moment before he realised the voice was coming from a  _ much  _ lower elevation than he was expecting. The small man standing next to him barely reached Pascalle’s knee. He had a head of pale pink hair, combed neatly back from his little round face. A gold monocle rested over his right eye, making the rosy iris appear much larger than it should have.

_ Lalafell _ .  _ All liars, all money hungry.  _ He could hear his father’s narrow-minded ramblings ringing in his ears.

“Is there anything we can help you with today, or were you just here to browse?” 

“ _ Ah _ .” He began, a little uncertainly. “Well, I uh… I have some rings with me and...” He shook his head quickly, “Forgive me, this heat can be most flustering for a Coerthan.” It wasn’t the heat of course. He wasn’t sure why he felt so startled to run into a Lalafell in a city that was literally  _ run _ by them. But he’d never really  _ met _ one before.

“Of course. It can fluster any one on the right sun.” The Lalafell gave a whimsical little laugh. Like someone shook a tambourine. “Let me get you a glass of cucumber water, good Ser. Then you can perhaps tell me more about these rings you’ve come to me with.”

“Thank you.”

The shopkeep climbed a little set of steps to the side of his counter, so that when he came to a stop on the other side and began to pour the water, he stood somewhat closer to eye-level with Pascalle. Although, he still had to look up as he passed him the cup.

It was perhaps about half the size of a cup in Ishgard, he took hold of it gingerly so as not to spill any and took a sip.

The Lalafell was already bustling about again, getting out a swath of velvet that he spread atop the counter and all manner of strange devices. All made in miniature to Pascalle’s eyes, though they were perfectly sized for the hands of a Lalafell. He knew the names of a few. Scales and gemscopes. But there were other tools too.

“When you’re quite ready and refreshed, Ser. I can have a look at them for you.” He said, looking up again as he laid down the last of his equipment. 

Pas put the glass down gently on the counter, unhooking the pouch with his rings from his belt, shaking them out into his hands.

“Ishgardian filigree.” The Lalafell said immediately, “It gets rarer and rarer with each passing moon.”

“My Mother says the same.” He chuckled as he handed over the jewellery. Watching as each ring was carefully placed upon the velvet.

“Griffin talon…” He said, holding up one of them to the light. “A very nice specimen… but, this one…” He removed his monocle and picked up the gemscope first, then took up the largest of the pieces, examining it beneath the lens. A gold band topped with a fat green emerald. The setting had been carved to look like leaves. It was a handsome piece, not gaudy at all. (His mother would never pick something gaudy.) Still, it had always been a bit too bulky for Pascalle’s tastes.

“…This one is quite rare indeed. A poisoner’s ring.”

He gave a little gasp of surprise. It was like watching a magic trick. The Lalafell pressed just the right spot on one of the leaves and gave it a little push to the side. There was a barely perceptible  _ click _ , and he lifted the whole jewel up. A hidden compartment.

“I think I’ve had that ring since I was fifteen summers old… and I never even realised.” He smiled as he shook his head.

“Well, it’s technically meant for a lady, I believe.” He told him, “See here, there is a faded etching on the inside of the lid. If you take a look through the scope, you’ll see…”

Pascalle took the tiny instrument and his ring and peered down the funnel.

“A symbol of Menphina, the Lover!” He exclaimed as he looked back toward the shopkeep, handing back both the ring and the gemscope with a smile.

“I daresay it was a gift for the wife of a Knight or a Dragoon. Someone who imagined they might one sun leave their love defenceless to the machinations of evil men.” The Lalafell chuckled, “A gift both romantic and practical… although perhaps a touch macabre. Thought that isn’t uncommon amongst the jewellery of nobility. Is your Mother an Ishgardian goldsmith?”

“Goodness no.” Pascalle laughed, “My Mother has no trade but motherhood, although she has a passion for curios like these.”

“Well, she has excellent taste. A good eye. All of these are quite valuable. You’d do well to hold on to them.” The Lalafell told him matter-of-factly.

_ All money hungry. _ The voice of Atreux Dubois hissed again in the back of his mind.

“You don’t want to buy them?” He asked, a little shocked.

“I’m afraid not, good Ser, I don’t think I could afford to fairly compensate you for all of them.” The Lalafell told him, “If you were after a buyer, I perhaps could find one for you. But their value will only increase with time. I would hold on to them were I you. Pass them on to your son, or daughter.”

“I didn’t realise they were worth so much…” He frowned as he looked at them. “My Mother often picked things up from different places…”

“Isolation makes it difficult to value goods at the proper market rate. It’s unsurprising to find people paying more for things worth less, and less for things worth more in those situations.”

Pascalle gave a thoughtful hum.

“I was hoping to find someone with an interest in buying them…”

“Have you need of coin in a hurry?” He asked him, “I could perhaps purchase one from you at a reasonable rate for both of us.”

“No, it’s not gil I’m after really. Well, I might need some. But I’m not in a hurry for it yet. I was more hoping to make some connections here.” He scratched the bridge of his nose with his finger as he considered his new predicament, “I’m new to these parts, and I thought perhaps if I could find a noble willing to buy one of these rings, I might make an acquaintance who can help me gain access to some of the city’s more exclusive locales… But if these rings are too expensive for a goldsmith with a gem shop like this. Well. It might take more time than I have to find that acquaintance.” 

“Good Ser, if you only wish to be invited to dinner parties, there’s no need for you to bargain away your Mother’s lucky finds. I should be most happy to make your introduction to a few nobles. Was it a lady–”

“No.” Pascalle said quickly. Probably too quickly if the slight smirk that sprung to the corners of the Lalafell’s mouth was any indication. “That is to say, it doesn’t have to be a lady. It could just as easily be a gentleman.”

“And is it just  _ yourself _ you wish to take along to said dinner parties?”

Pascalle had to use a great deal of self-restraint to keep his lips from twisting into a bashful smile.

“If I’m honest. The invitation isn’t for me at all. I’m trying to help a friend, you see.”

“A friend who wishes to be invited to fancy dinner parties with the Ul’dahn elite?”

“She’s a bard…” He cleared his throat. “She’d like to meet some people who might help her. She has her heart set on performing at the Gold Saucer and… It’s very important to her.” He replied, leaving out the precise reasons  _ why  _ that was the case.

“And  _ you _ would like to be the person to help her do that.” The Lalafell said with a knowing smile and Pascalle found himself wondering to himself if his affections were so plainly obvious to everyone.

“I have a number of clients who I could make such a request to, if that’s all it is you want. The Gold Saucer sees countless performers, sun up, sun down. It would be little trouble on my part to speak with someone. Provided your friend would be willing to audition beforehand, I’m sure it could be arranged.”

“What? Really?” He sounded a touch incredulous, “I mean, not to sound ungrateful. But why would you do me a favour. I just walked in off the street with some old jewellery…”

“Lovely pieces. I’ve already had a spark of inspiration for a new design. Consider that payment for the favour.” The Lalafell laughed, “Mintori Tojori.” He told him, laying a hand across his chest and bowing his head.

“Pascalle.”

“Though you must have a title, if your Mother is buying you rings such as these.” Mintori’s pink eyebrows lofted slightly in amusement, “And it will no doubt be needed if I’m to help your bard friend achieve her heart’s desires.”

“Lord. Dubois. Pascalle de Dubois.” He said with a slight sigh. It had been nice not to have to introduce himself this way for a little while. “Lady Nasrinne de Filois is my friend.”

“Lord Dubois and Lady Filois.” Mintori repeated, clearly committing the names to memory. “Well, Lord Pascalle, bring Lady Filois here tomorrow, we shall see about making the right introductions for you then.” 

Pas grinned broadly at Mintori. Unable to keep the expression from spreading across his face.  _ Who needs you, Hemmet? _ He thought to himself.

“Truly, Master Tojori, the Fury must have guided me here today.”

“Or perhaps it was Menphina.” Mintori replied with another little smirk.

\----

**_The Goblet; Thanalan_ **

It had been a fortnight since Pascalle had arrived in Ul’dah. Truly, it was fortunate he arrived, because she had been getting nowhere with Hemmet. Well, nowhere that she  _ wanted _ to be getting.

But, fortunately for Nasrinne, Jhulayne had sent Ser Pascalle along. And he had made a surprising connection in Ul’dah. A Lalafell by the name of Mintori Tojori who ran a goldsmith shop, Tojori’s Gems, just off of the Sapphire Exchange. Although how Pascalle had made the acquaintance of a goldsmith she had no idea.

He had taken Nasrinne to meet him two suns prior, where they had met with another friend of his, a middle-aged Lalafell woman, who had spoken to her at length about her desires to perform at the Saucer.

She hadn’t thought much of it, after all, the Exchange was filled with jewellers and Ul’dah was filled with Lalafell. She had  _ mostly _ gone along because the idea of an afternoon stroll through the city with Pascalle had seemed quite appealing.

But as it turned out this Mintori was certainly well connected.

“Nas!” Pascalle called somewhat eagerly as he heard her foot fall on the stairs. She stifled a yawn before she stepped into view.

“Good morning.” She said as she strolled lazily toward the stove in the kitchen to boil the kettle.

“It  _ is _ a good morning! Look!” He shoved a letter under her nose.

_ Lady de Filois _ , it began,  _ I am pleased to extend an invitation to you to perform at the Umbralday matinee in the Violet Lounge at – _

“Manderville’s Golden Saucer!” Nasrinne exclaimed. “By the fury, your friend Mintori came through.” She said, grinning up at him.

“Sorry for opening it… the letter was addressed to both of us on the envelope…”

She waved his explanation away with her hand.

“Don’t be daft.” She said to him, finally getting back to putting the kettle on, before taking the paper from him and reading over it in full, “Wait. Tomorrow. The Umbralday matinee is tomorrow?” Her voice took on the tell-tale tone of panic.

“Well, I suppose you did say  _ the sooner the better  _ to Lady Lilimia.”

Nasrinne’s lips twisted into a conceding frown.

“It doesn’t give us much time though…” She murmured as the steam began to rise from the kettle.

“You’re right, luckily, Mintori gave me some good advice about the Saucer already. What to wear, the sort of people to expect there…” He was still grinning at her, and Nasrinne found herself grinning back again. “So, I can handle all of that. And you’re clever enough it won’t take you long to come up with a plan of attack for our  _ real _ reasons for being there.”

It was true, Nasrinne was already formulating a plan of attack in her mind. It was a clear one. She would do the things she was best at doing. Singing and playing the harp, of course. But more importantly, listening and lying. Pascalle, on the contrary, would do what he did best, charm people with his dashing good looks, obviously. But also steer the topic of conversation towards Ishgardians, specifically Fabrice. It was a good plan. Nasrinne was only sorry she couldn’t come up with a good reason to bring her bow, in case things turned for the worse.

And, it seemed as if Pascalle already had a firm handle on what they needed to blend in. At least if his next suggestion was any indication.

“I thought we might go somewhere for brunch and then visit the weaver that Mintori told me about.”

“Somewhere for brunch?” The slightly panicked tone had returned.

“Well its past the hour for breakfast, Nas.” He replied, his lips twisting into a smirk as he looked at her. A criminal smirk. She thought to herself as her stomach fluttered anxiously. It should get him arrested in Ishgard to smirk at ladies like this, surely. Then the kettle whistled, and she drew in a sharp breath.

“Well, yes. I suppose it is.” She said as she poured the water for a tea. “I… don’t really need to be making this.” She mumbled.

Pascalle laughed, a warm throaty sound which brought the quiver back to life in her belly.

“Not really, no. Shall we leave then, if you’re ready of course.”

Nasrinne wasn’t sure she was ever  _ really _ ready to go anywhere with Pascalle. Or rather, she was certainly always ready to do it. She just didn’t know if it was a clever thing for her to do to her poor heart.

“As ready as I’m going to be, I imagine.” She told him with a smile and a shrug. It was quite a truthful answer really. Dangerously truthful.

It was already late afternoon by the time the two of them made it to the weavers. Nasrinne had almost begun to feel relaxed over brunch and wine, and idle chatter. Pascalle was quite good at idle chatter, he hardly ever seemed to struggle to find a clever topic of conversation to pursue.

But of course, once they arrived at the weavers, it was a different matter because she was confronted with,

“These clothes…”

“I know, Nas. Look at this! Unheard of back in Ishgard.” Pascalle laughed as he picked up a decadent, open collared shirt, spun from fine silk. The palest shade of blue, it could almost have been white, but for the icy tint of the cloth when the light struck it just so.

“Ah.” The male Miqo’te said from where he stood behind the counter, “You must be Lord Dubois and Lady Filois. Mintori told me to be expecting you.” He smiled warmly at them, the dark markings around his eyes crinkling. “I’m Vah’kitor, head weaver here at The Brass Button, but Viktor will suffice.” He gave a little wave of his hand, as he said it.

“A pleasure, Viktor.” Pas replied, smiling just as broadly as the Miqo’te, “My friend and I are after some finery to wear to the Saucer. Mintori assured me that  _ you _ were the best.”

“Mintori is an astoundingly kind gentleman.” Viktor was still grinning, “Although in this case he was not mistaken. The Brass Button makes it our business to only carry the finest fashions,  _ with _ foreign visitors in mind.” He turned his bright, eyes toward Nasrinne then, and she found herself thinking that they quite looked like a pair of brass buttons. They gleamed as they looked her up and down. “You remind me of my wife. Flick, that is Fhweera.” He corrected himself, not that Nasrinne had any idea what to do other than look shocked.

Pascalle looked a little shocked too, his eyes narrowed slightly at the statement. 

“If only she were here, I’d have her select something for you.” The weaver sighed, a tad dramatically. “She has a knack for marrying some practicality with fashion, you see. And I can tell that is your aesthetic, Lady Filois.” He nodded sagely at her, “Alas, she’s out gathering some Ahriaman leather.” He glanced between them then, the smile swiftly fading into quite a serious expression. “It’s the best when it comes to boot lining.”

“Of course.” Nasrinne nodded, not really sure of what else to say.

“That shirt, however, will be a must for you Ser Dubois.” The smile was back, appearing just as quickly as it disappeared. He gave a little clap of his hands. Springing suddenly toward a rack of coats and pulling three from it.

Two things became apparent as Viktor swanned and scurried about his shop. The first, was that he was  _ very _ good at what he did. There was not a single garment he selected for either of them which wasn’t at least somehow to their tastes. Whether it was the fabric or the cut or the colour. The second was that Viktor’s wife, Fhweera, was never far from his mind apparently. For he mentioned her in every explanation of every piece he offered them.

“Well,” Pascalle said as he came out of the dressing room, “I think I’m ready to make some friends. He raised his arms, turning side to side as he tugged on the lapels of the handsomely tailored coat. A rich, royal blue. “How do I look?”

_ Like the most handsome man in all of Aldenard _ . She thought to herself as she watched him.

“Perfectly Dashing.” She said with a smile. 

\----


	9. Chapter 9

##  **Chapter 9**

**_The Gold Saucer; Thanalan_** ** _  
_** **N.b.** _The Ballad of Hengr_ is a non-canon original piece of poetry, it could not have been composed without the help of my wonderful and talented friend Jill 

Pascalle wasn’t truly sure why Mintori had taken such a liking to him. But he was not one to look a gift chocobo in the mouth, especially now standing in the grandeur of Manderville’s Gold Saucer.

“Have you ever seen so many different coloured lights, Nas?” He craned his neck, taking in the bright surroundings, and the flashing lights washing over them.

“Never.” She replied, shaking her head with a slightly awestruck expression of her own.

Manderville’s Gold Saucer, however, was like nothing either of them had ever prepared themselves for. A spectacle of colourful sights and cacophonous sounds. A pair of Viera stood, waiting upon a thick, luxurious red carpet. These were their escorts to the Entrance Hall.

“...at the counter, you’ll receive your keys and then you’ll be escorted to the Violet Lounge…” The ivory haired Viera explained, glancing over at them with a pair of deep-pink eyes.

They had both encountered a few Viera over their time in Ul’dah, but these women were stunning. Their tall rabbiteen ears rising above their cascading hair. Nasrinne hadn’t taken her eyes off of them, Pascalle knew, because he was looking at  _ her _ .

It was difficult  _ not _ to look at the scarlet dress that Viktor had chosen for her. Pascalle had heard the weaver muttering words to her while they shopped. Things like,  _ keyhole _ or  _ steel boning _ . But he hadn’t  _ seen _ her wearing it in the store. (Nasrinne didn’t like to wear dresses at the best of times, let alone simply for an audience of Pascalle and a strange Miqo’te.)

Of course, they all made sense now. The teardrop gap that gave a glimpse of her throat before the collar rose higher, wrapping about the graceful arc of her neck. The fitted (though not  _ too _ fitted,) bodice. And then the length. The silken hem of her skirt swaying just above her ankles. Pascalle had the thought then, he could get  _ used _ to these Ul’dahn fashions. He shook it from his mind as they approached the counter. Feeling a tad well,  _ guilty _ to harbour such scandalous thoughts. They were here on a  _ mission _ .

Even Nasrinne would admit the Viera they walked behind were stunning. It was difficult not to feel a  _ tad _ jealous walking behind such pairs of long, sculpted legs. But in truth, Nasrinne found it preferable to looking at Pascalle. He looked like a prince. The royal blue suited him perfectly, and the shirt.  _ That shirt _ . The way it fell open about his collarbones. Nasrinne was afraid if she looked at him, she’d stare at the smooth, chiselled flesh exposed there. Better to keep her eye on the bunny girls.

“Hopefully you can make a few friends while I’m wasting time on stage.” She said watching their escorts depart and head back down to the airship landing. “I am sure you’ll be very popular with all the noble ladies.”  _ Did she say that? Quickly. Say something else. _ “And men.”  _ Oh. No _ . “Which of course is exactly what you want.”  _ Somebody. Anybody. Deliver me from my own stupidity. _ “I mean what we want…”

“Are you alright Nasrinne?” His hand was on her shoulder. Offering it a reassuring squeeze as he leaned his face closer to her, whispering softly so no one else would overhear, “If it’s nerves about the mission. Everything will be fine, we’re just here to talk.”

“Here are your keys, Lady Filois, Lord Dubois.” The Viera behind the counter said as she handed them each a golden card.

_ Bless this bunny girl, Halone. Bless her. _

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Nasrinne beamed at the dark-haired Viera.

“Of course.” She had no idea why Nasrinne looked so pleased to see her, but she was taking it in her stride because she was a professional hostess after all. “This way please.”

Unsurprisingly, the door to the Violet Lounge was, well, violet. The Viera explained the golden cards they held were keys which would allow them access into the area for the duration of their time at the Saucer. Once she led them inside, she gestured for Nasrinne to follow her to the performers area backstage.

“Feel free to enjoy the refreshments, and the other performances, Lord Dubois.” The Viera said.

Nasrinne gave Pas a parting shrug,

“I’ll see you in a little while I suppose. Have fun.”

“I’ll be sure to gather a few friends to enjoy the show!” He gave her a quick wink before turning on heel to survey the evening’s company.

The Violet lounge was not terribly crowded. Although it was certainly not deserted either. There were about half a dozen Lalafells sharing a booth together, as well as a few groups of three or four people, clustered around tables or standing in small groups as they waited for their drinks at the bar.  _ Elezen? _ He thought to himself as he surveyed the patrons,  _ No. Don’t want to step on toes too early. _ The bar seemed to be as good a place to start as any, he thought. He walked up and stood behind a Hyur woman. Extravagantly dressed in a low-cut black, satin dress.

“Might I ask what it is you’re drinking? It looks quite intriguing.” He asked nodding toward her brightly coloured blue and green concoction, which truly, Pas had never seen in his life. The Hyur woman looked straight at his ears, then groaned in disgust. Eyes rolling as she moved herself off to her table. His own eyes widened with surprise at her reaction. “Well, I thought that was my most charming smile.” He murmured beneath his breath.

“Don’t mind Lady Avery.” A voice whispered next to him. Another Hyur. A young man, well dressed in a smart green overcoat that matched his eyes. “She’s had nothing but bad luck with the Elezen boys. But that’s a Thavnairian Comet she’s drinking, if you wanted to order one.” The man looked Pascalle in the eyes with a friendly smile. “Were you here alone, sport? Or have you a party of pretty Ishgardian girls waiting at a table for you somewhere?” He asked with a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

\----

Backstage, Nasrinne was busy pretending like she had something to do with her face or hair in the mirror. Seeing as that was what everyone else was doing. Even the men _. Halone help me.  _ She thought to herself, _ and I give Jhulayne grief about the amount of time he spends combing his hair. _

“Did you forget your makeup?” A Miqo’te had come to a stop just behind her chair. “You can borrow mine if you like.”

“ _ Oh _ .”  _ Of course _ . Pascalle might have thought of their clothes. But he’d never think about make-up, would he? She should have thought of it.  _ But… _ “Well, it’s just in Ishgard-”

“Ishgard? You must be Hemmet’s friend!” The Miqo’te’s ears twitched atop her head as she clapped her hands together

_ Ladies aren’t supposed to paint their faces _ . Was What the end of that sentence would have been. Which is quite rude. So, in truth it was probably a good thing the Miqo’te interrupted her before she said it.

“You know Master Hemmet?” Nasrinne asked, a little surprised,

“I knew it had to be you! He asked me last moon to find out if there were any openings for performers here for a friend of his from Ishgard!” She beamed at Nasrinne, “I was still working on it, but I guess you mustn't have needed my help after all!” She extended her hand, “I’m I’zuna, by the way.”

Nasrinne took the hand, she offered.

“Are you the stage manager?”

“Twelves no!” She laughed, her tail swishing behind her animatedly “I’m not important enough for that. I’m just another performer here sometimes. I was just going to let him know when a spot opened up…” She tilted her head to one side, studying Nasrinne for a moment, then holding up one hand, framing her face between thumb and forefinger, “When Hemmet told me there was a bard from Ishgard wanting to perform at the Saucer, I was so interested!” She cooed.

“Really?”

I’zuna was already pulling out a dark pencil from her little leather pouch.

“I’ve heard that Ishgardian bards have some of the most beautiful voices, but that you only sing hymns!” She laughed, “Which of course, can’t be true if you’re here.”

“I have a few hymns in my repertoire. But I think I’ll stick to the ballads tonight. Are you a bard as well?” She asked.

I’zuna laughed prettily again, shaking her head.

“No, no. I’m a dancer.” She smiled, “That’s how I met Hemmet, he was guarding a private party I performed at once. Close your eyes.” 

She did just that, sitting very still as I’zuna carefully drew the lines of kohl around them. Nasrinne opened her eyes to look at the Miqo’te, a small smile coming over her lips.

“Perhaps you can teach me a thing or two about dancing. I’m afraid I’m not well versed in the steps that pass for popular, even within Ishgard’s borders.”

I’zuna stashed the pencil again and clapped her hands together.

“Why, I’d love to teach you what I know about dancing sometime...” She grinned, gesturing for Nasrinne to take a look in the mirror. Nasrinne had never really worn makeup before, so she was surprised to see the sultry, smoky-eyed reflection gazing back at her.

“You look gorgeous.” I’zuna said. “You’ve got such pretty eyes! It’s no wonder Hemmet fancies you!”

“Oh.” Nasrinne said, the tips of her ears starting to flush with the awkward beginnings of her embarrassment. “Thank you…”

“Don’t mention it!” I’zuna laughed again, “Anyway, I better go and get ready. I’m the opening act! But I hope I see you in the crowd after your bit!” She said giving Nasrinne a wave over her shoulder before skipping off toward the stage entrance.

\----

Back at the bar, Pascalle looked down at the Hyur addressing him. There was a fair height difference between them.

_ Character. Pascalle. Play the role. _

“I can hardly blame her, we’re a troublesome lot.” He laughed, returning the other man’s somewhat sly smile. He leaned forward, raising his hand to catch the barman’s eye. “Thavnairian Comet, and one for my friend here.” He held up a pair of fingers.

The Hyur smiled broadly,

“Mighty generous of you, good ser.” He said, extending Pascalle his hand. “Elwyn Harper.” He introduced himself as the bartender mixed their drinks. “And you’re right about the trouble part.” He chuckled, “It’s almost as if you lot go wild when you come down from the mountains.”

A thought struck Pas then, one he hadn’t run past Nasrinne at all. But should he really be going around giving his own name and occupation to strangers? Surely the knowledge that he was a Temple Knight would compromise their investigations if something nefarious was afoot.

“ _ Philippe Duiduste _ , charmed.” He took the other man’s hand with a firm grip. “Actually, this is my first time down from the mountains, myself Elwyn.” Nasrinne was clever. She was probably already expecting him to do this. And if she wasn’t, she would catch on quick enough. “Are there a lot of Ishgardians about Ul’dah then?”

“I know a few yes.” He gestured to a table off to the side of the stage where an older Elezen man sat, surrounded by what were obviously other members of high society. If the finery they were adorned in was anything to go by. “

“Take Bricey for instance. He hardly ever leaves this place now. Word on the street is he’s up to his ears in debt.” He laughed again. “Don’t mind the pun.”

_ Bricey? _ Pascalle wondered. Could that be the missing Baron Rougecarpe? He appeared to be the right age. But, he was also struggling not to roll his eyes at the pun. He forced a chuckle.

“I can see the allure of this place, though I hope to have at least a modicum of control, unlike our friend, Bricey.”

“Your drinks, Ser.” Pas turned back to the barman, taking the first drink and handing it to Elwyn. 

“You’re welcome to sit with us if you like. My friend Lord Arnor has a spot with a nice view of the stage. He has a friend performing tonight.” He gestured to a table right next to the stage.

Money made friends, after all. Not  _ real _ friends. But  _ Phillipe _ didn’t need real friends, he wasn’t real. And Pascalle just needed friends for now.

“I shan’t pass up an opportunity for a front row seat.” He said as he took his own drink. “What is it your friend Arnor, is lord of, Elwyn?”

“His family have estates in Limsa.” Elwyn explained, “Though I don’t know much more than that. I met him here at the Saucer, and Arny doesn’t like to talk business at the Saucer.” He raised his eyebrows, clearly attempting to give Pas a tip about the sort of topics he should avoid. “I hear its trade though.”

“Who can blame him? Who wants to talk business in a place like this?” He cocked his own eyebrows, knowingly, then he turned back to the bartender again. Still patiently awaiting payment for the drinks. “Keep a tab running for me and my friends at the table there.” Pas told him, nodding to Elwyn’s table and laying down a gold Allagan piece.  _ Best to keep up noble appearances _ . He told himself, pretending not to notice the wide-eyed and slightly hungry expression on Elwyn’s face.

“Exactly!” Elwyn’s sly smile bloomed into an almost devious grin. “Arny only comes here to watch the dancing girls.” He added with a wink, “He knows quite a few of them by name. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

_ Arny’s _ table had two empty chairs waiting at it.

“Well chaps, I’ve just made us a new friend from Ishgard! Philippe Duiduste, it’s his first time out of Coerthas.” Elwyn gestured for Pascalle to take a seat, “So, let’s be sure to show him a good time.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Philippe.” The Hrothgar spoke first, offering a meaty paw across the table as Pas sat down. “Names Thorvald.” He gave him an alarmingly toothy smile. Not that he could help being all teeth. Hrothgar were known for their large fangs, after all.

“That’s quite a mitt you have there, Thorvald.” He joked, though it  _ was _ quite a strong grip. That probably couldn’t be helped with an appendage of such a size either. But if this was Thorvald, then the other man. Very well dressed in a dark crimson jacket with fine ebony buttons. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, swept back from his face. Well that could only be…

“This is Lord Arnor.” Elwyn said,. “I rescued him from Lady Avery. She was being insufferable, honestly.” He added as he took his own seat.

“Well, Rougecarpe’s here tonight with some other pretty face again, and if you remember, he had that fling with her Mother...” Thorvald said, sounding a tad sympathetic.

_ Rougecarpe _ . So, it was Fabrice. What blind luck! Fury be praised. He thought to himself, though he kept the eager smile from his face.

“Welcome, Philippe. Coerthas, was it? Hells you must be happy to be away from all that snow.” Arnor said to Pascalle with a thin smile. 

“You have no idea. The cold will be the death of me… not to mention  _ freedom _ from the puritanical attitudes of the Holy See.” Pascalle did roll his eyes this time. He didn’t need to force it either. The longer he spent away from Ishgard, the more foolish all of the propriety seemed.

“Actually, Rougecarpe is supposed to be from Ishgard originally, maybe you know him, Philippe?” Arnor continued.

“No, I have not had the pleasure. Perhaps I’ll introduce myself. A fellow Ishgardian abroad may have a few useful travelling tips.”

“Baron Rougecorpe has run through just about all the eligible bachelorettes who’ll have him here in Ul’dah.” Arnor said, watching the Elezen for a moment before turning back, “But I suppose, Ishgardian dames have a reputation for being a bit… well, shall we say frigid?” The group laughed at Arnor’s joke, and Pas joined them, of course.

“He can be a bit skittish about newcomers, honestly. Bricey, I mean.” Elwyn said once their chuckles had died down.

“Maybe we can ask Zuna to make an introduction for Philippe, he gets along well with her, doesn’t he?” Thorvald suggested helpfully.

“Everyone gets along with the Sun’s Mirage.” Lord Arnor replied with something of a smirk, “That’s what they call Zuna, here at the Lounge.” He nodded to the pale furred Miqo’te who had just taken the stage.

_ The Sun’s Mirage _ . Bit of a hubristic moniker. Pascalle thought to himself.

“Perhaps after the show.” Pascalle nodded as the lights began to dim. His eyes flickering toward Fabrice again. He wanted to keep tabs on him. They couldn’t have him slipping away before he had a chance to make his introduction. If it was true Baron Rougecorpe had a weakness for women perhaps they could use that to their advantage. Though he found that thought more than slightly unappealing. Maybe there was another way?

The dancer, Zuna as they called her, raised the pair of steel rings high above her head. The music began, and she swept across the stage. Moving gracefully into the start of her performance. The rich gold silk of her dress splitting apart to reveal her lean, nimble legs. She pranced towards Arnor’s side of the stage at one point. Lingering for a moment to wink at their table before spinning away again like a dervish.

“Zuna performs at Arnor’s private parties.” Elwyn leaned in to whisper to Pascalle, “So they’re quite well acquainted.”

Just how well acquainted they were became obvious soon after the Miqo’te left the stage. For she reappeared at their table, the pair of steel rings holstered upon her swaying hips as she leaned in to give Lord Arnor a peck on the cheek.

“It’s so good to see you here Arny!” She said to him brightly, “Hello Thor, Hello Elwyn.” She added, before turning her fiery eyes towards Pascalle, “I see you’ve brought a new friend with you tonight boys.” She pressed a hand lightly against the swath of gossamer gown that wrapped across her chest. “I’m I’zuna, although I’m sure you already know that.” She had a pretty way of laughing, sweet and breathy. “You just watched my performance after all.”

“I most certainly do; your friends here have done a wonderful job of lauding you before you even began. Though I didn’t expect it to be so… captivating.” Pascalle took her hand in his own, bowing forward and kissing it. If he wanted her to introduce him to Fabrice, flattery was going to be the quickest way, he assumed. “A pleasure it is to meet you I’zuna.”

If the way she fluttered her eyelashes at him was any indication, it was a safe assumption.

“Philippe is visiting from Ishgard.” Arnor said to I’zuna, before gesturing for one of the waiters to bring them another chair, squeezing it in at the corner of the table, between Pascalle and Elwyn.

“Ishgard! It’s like you’re all down here visiting at the moment.” She gasped as she looked at him, “One of the bards here tonight is from Ishgard! She said she’s going to do ballads. I just can’t wait to hear them!” I’zuna gave a dreamy little sigh before she sat down finally.

“Another Ishgardian? You don’t say” He raised his eyebrows, a convincing show of surprise. Obviously, he knew the bard was Nasrinne. “Lord Arnor had just mentioned you know Baron Rougecorpe, perhaps a small Isgardian get together is in order once this bard’s performance is over?” Pas smiled at her with the most charming grin he could muster. “I was about to order a round of drinks for the table, would you like something?”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you.” I’zuna smiled up at Pascalle, her tail falling over the edge of her seat, brushing lightly against his leg as she ordered a sparkling red wine for herself.

“Why don’t I get a bottle for the table?” He suggested, nodding at the Viera when everyone agreed.

“I can introduce you to Bricey if you like… although, don’t lend him any money!” She chuckled, watching him as he flagged down one of the Viera waiters. “I think he still owes you, doesn’t he, Arny?” She asked turning her gaze from him finally, leaning her elbow languidly on the table, letting her chin fall into her hand.

“A debt forgiven, Zuna.” Arnor replied with a wave of his hand as he picked up his fresh drink. “Rougecarpe has enough trouble without me adding to it.”

“I can afford to part with a few coins, if a fellow Ishgardian is in need.” Pascalle pondered over the conversation. Forgiving debts of a known gambler. Perhaps these were good folk ultimately, he mused. 

“How pretty was this Ishgardian bard, Zuna?” Elwyn asked, “You should definitely introduce us to her. What was her name?”

“Nasrinne. She’ll be on after this magic act.” I’zuna said glancing up toward the pair of performers currently on stage.

Pascalle had to avoid smiling to himself.  _ Was she pretty? _ Her smile could light up a room. It could stop a heart. It  _ did _ stop his heart. Frequently.

“Poor dove didn’t have any stage makeup.” She looked genuinely sorry as she said it, “I did her eyes for her, but honestly, she’s so pale she’s going to look like a ghost under the stage lights.” She shook her head slightly, “Anyway, she’s still too pretty for you, Elwyn. Plus, I think Hemmy fancies her. He mentioned her to me.”

He was Phillippe right now. And Phillippe had not met Nasrinne. Which meant he couldn’t show the indignation he felt at the words that came spilling from I’zuna. How could Nasrinne ever look anything other than perfect? And she was  _ much _ too pretty for Elwyn. But these thoughts quickly washed aside at the mention of Hemmet. Did he have his fingers in  _ every _ fish pastry? Thorvald’s attitude seemed to turn too, at the mention of the name.

“The Sergeant.” The Roedagyn said it with a growl. “Well steer clear then, Wynnie. Don’t want to find you in a gutter somewhere.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” I’zuna said confidently, “Elwyn isn’t even in with a chance. And besides, Hemmy doesn’t murder anyone.”

“He just looks the other way when someone does.” Elwyn said with a slight frown.

“We all do, Elwyn.” Lord Arnor said with a shrug. “I’m sure Sergeant Hemmet knows which battles he can win and which ones he can’t. That’s how he got to be a Sergeant, after all.”

The hostess bought over the ice bucket. Releasing the cork from the bottle with a loud  _ thwop. _

“Wise of you to keep local constabulary close, Lord Arnor.” Pascalle nodded as I’zuna handed him one of the glasses being poured.

“No one gets far if they run afoul of the city guard.” Lord Arnor replied with a shrug, “But it’s pertinent for me to keep a few of them on retainer, so to speak, for private functions. They’re muscles come a sight cheaper than adventurers.”

I’zuna glanced up toward the stage where Nasrinne was making her entrance.

“See Elwyn, what did I tell you, out of your league.” She laughed, poking the Hyur in the shoulder before leaning back in her chair. “She seemed awfully timid for a bard though.”

“Well, I think you’ll be in for a treat,” Pascalle said with a playful grin, “Ishgardian bards are among the most talented in all of Eorzea.”

\----

Nasrinne was to be the third act, the last before the intermission. She had wanted it organised this way to give Pascalle time to find them some leads amongst the noble and wealthy who frequented the Saucer’s private rooms. She was standing just out of view of the curtains, waiting her turn as her dark eyes scanned the room through the small slit between the wall and the velvet drapes. She spotted Pascalle quite close to the stage with… none other than I’zuna. She drew a sharp breath through her nose, turning away from the gap as he took the dancer’s hand, bringing it toward his lips.

“ _ Nerves about the mission…” _ She scoffed to herself as his words came back to her. No, it had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with… well…  _ that _ . 

She exhaled with a soft sigh. 

_ That _ was exactly what Pascalle was supposed to be doing. I’zuna probably knew plenty of people who came and went through here, she carried herself about the place like a seasoned performer. And he’d likely have more luck prying some useful information out of the dancer than she would.

_ Still _ , he never kissed  _ her _ hand when they met. But why would he? They met at the pub. In  _ Ishgard _ . Where you didn’t even bloody hold hands in public when you were  _ married _ …  _ Just stop thinking about it, Nasrinne _ . She scolded herself as she looked down at her lyre, touching her fingers gently to the strings.

The curtains parted, and she stepped out onto the stage, feeling the buzzing heat of the spotlights above her.  _ Stop thinking about everything _ .  _ Forget about everyone _ .

The song she was opening with was a favourite of Jhulayne’s, so she must have sung the damned thing now a hundred times or more.

The tale of the witch Hengr and her cauldron, a well-known fairy tale from Coerthas. But this was an original composition. A ballad, one of her early ones, (and truthfully the story was entirely of her own devising.)

She closed her eyes and began to pluck out the beginnings of the tune. A breathy arpeggio; each delicate note following the other so quickly upon its downward step that it brought to mind a flurry of snowfall.  __

_ Hengyr was a faerie queen _

_ Whose tongue could whirlwinds summon _

_ She wove the aether to her whim _

_ Reformed all which was cruel and grim. _

_ Drew from her cauldron, wonders. _

__

_ They say her eyes were eidelweiss, _

_ A pure and bonny snow drift. _

_ Kindled a wish in every heart, _

_ Drew stars and light in every part. _

_ And from her cauldron, wonders. _

__

_ Glystening wings like lyghtning spread _

_ To shield her ev’ry adept _

_ To dress the hopes of maidens soft _

_ In starlight, dreams she spread aloft _

_ And from her cauldron, wonders. _

_ In starlight, worked gentle witch _

_ In sapphire night to guide them _

_ She pinn’d mens’ wishes on moonbeams _

_ Her crucible cast chylde’s dreams _

_ And from her cauldron, wonders. _

_ But Hengyr could have not foreseen _

_ How darkness tears and tatters _

_ How ash and ember send astray _

_ The dreams and hopes they burn away _

_ And from her cauldron, wonders. _

__

_ For men do not dream alone, _

_ Not the only ones who wish _

_ Another begged of Hengyr’s gift _

_ A dragon; of his eye berift _

_ And from her cauldron, wonders _

_ Hengyr daren’t grant more gifts _

_ Not to dragon born, nor man. _

_ Bid winds and stars; a kiss, goodnight _

_ Then spread her wings in final flight _

_ And from her cauldron, wonders _

_ From Dravania’s great depths _

_ There came a call; as thunder _

_ And so, the dragon’s spawn did rise _

_ With rage that blackened starlit skies, _

_ To come for cauldron’s wonders _

_ Into her vessel, fled she _

_ Through rifts that none could follow _

_ With her went hopes, and dreams as well _

_ The secrets she bade never tell _

_ Gone from her cauldron, wonders _

__

_ They say her lips still whisper _

_ In soft spring sun’s retreating _

_ The waning sound of Hengyr’s might _

_ Still echoes, onward through the night _

_ Gone from her cauldron, wonders. _

__

Nasrinne’s voice was more than sweet or pretty. It had a warm clarity that drew you in; powerful and rich, yet somehow raw and vulnerable. She weaved the notes and words together with such masterful skill you could almost imagine she  _ wa _ s Hengr. By the time the last strains of melody had faded into the beginning of the applause, she had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand. Whether she knew it or not. Music has a way of improving people’s moods. (When it’s played well.)

She’d chosen all her songs wisely, moving from the original piece into a pair of tavern favourites. Ending finally with a jaunty ballad about the Floating City of Nym, that was of course a big hit with the Lalafells. It was during this final performance that she spared a glance toward Pascalle’s table, catching his eyes for an instant, as I’zuna waved to her.

The Miqo’te was bounding towards the backstage steps the moment the curtains fell.

“Nasrinne that was wonderful!” She exclaimed, clasping her hands together beneath her chin as her tail swayed merrily behind her. “You have the most beautiful voice!”

“Thank you.” Nasrinne replied, bowing her head and trying to take the compliment with grace instead of thinking about Pascalle kissing one of the hands clutched beneath those painted lips.

“There’s another Ishgardian here for the first time tonight! His name’s Philippe!” I’zuna continued, purring in a voice like velvet.

_ Philippe. _ Nasrinne thought to herself. Pas had used a pseudonym, probably not a bad idea. Impossible for her, however. Everyone in the room already knew her name. (Nasrinne didn’t have a stage name, like  _ The Sun’s Mirage _ .)

“He’s a real  _ dish _ too.” I’zuna grinned at her with an expression that could only be called saucy. “Him and my friends want to meet you! Why don’t you come and join us for a drink?”

“Thank you.” Nasrinne replied with a polite bow of her head, trying not to think too hard on how she felt about the dancer using the word  _ dish _ to describe Pascalle.

“Come on, come on!” I’zuna said eagerly, grabbing a hold of her hand, quite without permission. and tugging her in the direction of the table.

Her eyes fell on Pascalle without meaning to as they approached. He caught her gaze with a familiar smile gracing his lips.

“These are the gentlemen who wanted to compliment your performance.” I’zuna said, pointing to each of the men at the table, “Lord Arnor, Lord Elwyn, Master Thorvaesch and… sorry,  _ Philippe _ …” I’zuna gave a little tut, “You never told me your title.”

“Titles are of little matter to me here.” He said, his smile broadening as he turned it to I’zuna. “Just Philippe is fine enough.”

Somehow his smile only looked more handsome when it was directed at someone else. Nasrinne thought to herself ruefully.

“An honour to meet you, my lords. I hope you enjoyed the songs.”

“Enjoyed them!” The one called Elwyn burst out, standing swiftly from his seat, catching her hand in his to plant a kiss on it, not unlike the way she had spied Pas greeting I’zuna through the curtains. “They were marvellous.” He continued. Then his eyes caught the flush of rouge that had swept right across her cheeks as he rose from the amorous gesture and he gave a roguish chuckle. “Talented and beautiful, I believe we are the ones who should be honoured.”

“My Lord Elwyn you are too kind.” She said as she let her hand drop,

“Breathtaking.” Pascalle said as his eyes caught hers again, “That’s the word I’d use.” Those perfect, striking, piercing blue eyes. Like the Coerthan sky.  _ Oh _ , she thought to herself.  _ This was all a terrible, terrible idea. _ “That first ballad… it was an original, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” She replied, thoroughly flustered by everything that had occurred over the past few moments. “A retelling of the story of Hengr, I wrote it when I was a young girl.”

“You’re a rare talent, Lady Nasrinne.” Pascalle said as he looked back toward his wine, picking up the glass.

“My thanks for paying such sweet gratitude.” She bowed her head, praying she wouldn’t have to meet his gaze when she lifted it. Or Lord Elwyn’s or anyone else’s for that matter. She was having a considerable number of doubts about whether or not she could actually do this.

“See, I told you, she’s so sweet.” I’zuna cooed from where she stood, leaning against the back of the Lord Arnor’s chair; her lips close by his ear.

“Please, have a seat, Lady Nasrinne.” He said. “Allow us to buy you a drink to show our appreciation… Thorvaesch?” He turned to look at the Hrothgar.

Thorvaesch rose from his seat next to Lord Arnor, stepping aside and gesturing for Nasrinne to take it.

“Oh, no, please.” Nasrinne replied, “Don’t go to any trouble on account of me. I should head to the bar and get myself a glass of water.” She touched her hand to her throat, “I’m a little parched.”

“Nonsense.” Arnor said smoothly, “After the performance you just delivered it’s the least we can do, and I am sure a wine will ease your throat.” He patted the now-empty chair next to him with an inviting smile. “Besides, Philippe is a countryman of yours. We’d be remiss not to provide you with the same hospitality we’ve offered him.”

“Well, if you’re certain I’m not interrupting.” Nasrinne cleared her throat, sitting herself down next to Arnor as he called over one of the serving staff. Another leggy Viera. “Where in Ishgard do you hail from,  _ Ser _ Philippe?” She asked conversationally.

I’zuna might have progressed to a first-name basis with “Philippe”, but Nasrinne was from Ishgard, she was no Miqo’te dancing girl. She couldn’t exactly be so forward.

“I hail from The Lower Pillars; I shan’t bore you with the details.” Pascalle waved his hand dismissively, knocking back the rest of his drink.

Thorvaesch had fetched some more chairs, and a game of switch began. Soon Nasrinne found herself sandwiched between Arnor and Thorvaesch. I’zuna’s chair was squeezed tight against the edge of Pascalle’s; her lithe tail swishing scandalously close to his leg.

A bottle of wine arrived, and Nasrinne graciously took the glass the hostess poured for her. It was fruity, effervescent red. She wasn’t sure what the name of it was. Pascalle would probably know. She thought to herself as she sipped it.

“Zuna,” Pascalle smiled ingratiatingly at the Miqo’te.

_ Zuna _ . Nasrinne scowled inwardly, taking another sip of her wine. He said her name so casually, with the same timbre and tone as Arnor and Elwyn. Why did it bother her?

“Perhaps your friend Fabrice and company could be obliged to join us? It would pain me greatly to miss the chance to share your hospitality with another of my countrymen.” 

_ Fabrice _ ? There wasn’t even a flicker of a smile on her face as he said the name, but suddenly she was filled with anticipation as she watched Pas stare down Arnor.  _ My, my, you clever devil, Pas. You did well. _ She thought as she turned a bright smile toward I’zuna and then to the Lord sitting next to her.

“Another son of Ishgard? How merry to run into some brothers from Coerthas down in these desert plains.” She gave a pretty laugh, fluttering her eyelashes, “I should very much like to meet him, if he is already a friend of yours.”  __

“You certainly seem like you know how to get the party started,  _ Philippe _ .” I’zuna purred the name, “I’ll see if he’s so inclined.” Her tail brushed against his thigh as she stood. Nasrinne tried very hard not to notice.  _ He’s far too tall for you. Cat girl. _ She thought, all while smiling sweetly at the departing Miqo’te.

“And have the desert plains been agreeing with you, Naz?” Elwyn asked her from where he sat opposite her. “Sorry, is it alright if I call you Naz?”

“Of course, Lord Elwyn.” She nodded, trying to avoid the urge to look over her shoulder to see if Fabrice would indeed be joining them. “And yes, the climate of Ul’dah and Thanalan has been nothing short of refreshing.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He said as he leaned across the table, “On both counts.” His smile, while still charming, simply didn’t hold the same appeal as Pascalle’s, she thought. “And you can just call me Wyn.” He told her.

\----

He couldn’t bear to bring his gaze across the table to Nasrinne,  _ Wyn _ was doing his utmost to flirt with her. Instead, he turned to watch I’zuna, standing a breaths width from Fabrice, rubbing a hand rubbing over his shoulder as her tail curled around up his back.  _ Again, with the flirting. _ It seemed to be everyone’s default setting. Suddenly the Elezen looked back toward their table, directly at Pascalle. As their eyes met, he studied Fabrice Rougecarpe’s features. He was an elderly Elezen. Perhaps a few years past his Father’s age, of an average build. Although you could tell from the way he leaned against his cane as he stood that he was growing frail as age set in. He was still sporting a thick head of hair, a shade of sooty grey.

The Baron stood from his chair with a drink in hand, a jovial look on his face, leaning in and whispering something to I’zuna as she linked her arm in his, leading the way toward the table. He gave an inward sigh of relief, glancing over toward Nasrinne finally to see if she had noticed their approach. If she had, she gave him no sign of it. She was still smiling sweetly, sipping her wine, and placating the young Lord Wyn.

“Greetings brother, it warms my heart to see one of our own doing so well outside of Coerthas.” He said with a smile as the Baron approached, rising from his seat to offer it to him, and more importantly, move himself away from the Miqo’te.

“Good seein’ ya, Rougecarpe.” Arnor cleared his throat after speaking, pausing himself a second before he continued. “It seems tonight the Violet Lounge is hosting an Ishgard reunion.” after came a hearty chuckle.

Fabrice laughed at the comment too, although it was a thin sound compared to the laugh of Arnor.

“Many thanks, good ser.” The Baron said as he sat down. “A brother of Ishgard is always a welcome sight.” He turned his eyes toward Nasrinne then, they were an insipid brown. “Outstanding performance earlier, my dear. That was a unique version of the ballad of Hengr. Though it did bring back fond memories of home.” He gave a little sigh. 

“How long have you been away?” She asked him innocently, batting her eyelashes for full effect.

“Many moons now, I am afraid. Since before the end of the Dragonsong War.” He smiled, “Now, I know what brought you to the Saucer, dear. But what about you?” He turned his gaze to him now, “What brings you to these parts? Just visiting, or are you planning to make the move down to greener pastures?”

“There’s no green pastures in Thanalan.” Thorvaesch gave the Baron a wry smile as he said it.

“Plenty of sand though.” Elwyn added, before the two began to laugh amongst themselves. It wasn’t particularly funny, but Nasrinne hid a giggle behind her hand.

To say it bothered Pascalle would have been an understatement. Watching her laugh at the stale joke, and even though he  _ knew _ she was pretending. He couldn’t stand it.

“Just visiting.” He replied to the Baron, doing his best to keep his gaze from lingering on Nasrinne’s simpering smile as Elwyn whispered something into her ear. “Phillipe by the way.” He said, reaching over the table to shake Fabrice’s weathered hand.

“And have you been enjoying the city sights too?”  _ He’s like a doddering old uncle _ . Pascalle thought to himself, smiling as he gave him a nod in the affirmative.

“And Lord Arnor, how has  _ business _ been?” Fabrice asked. The stiffening of Arnor’s shoulders was almost imperceptible. But Elwyn had said it was a subject to avoid broaching.

“Aye, well enough.” He replied to the Baron’s question coolly, “I dare say fairer than yer own. I hear you’re out of a job, Rougecarpe.”

“It’s true, I am.  _ By choice _ .”

He listened to Arnor and Fabrice as if their words were golden, observing their back and forth; though on the outside he was attempting to be as casual as possible, to interject at the exact right moment.

Now was the time. His words were kind, a concern that is so quick, it’s natural.

“You have my sympathies Baron Rougecarpe.” He nodded solemnly, adjusting the cuff of his shirt so as to appear indifferent in his next question “Might I ask what line of business? By Halones grace perhaps I may be of assistance?”

“Transport.” The Baron replied to Pascalle, “Goods, mostly these suns. But in the past, we did assist with overland travel for Eorzean citizens.” His smile seemed worn as he said it, “ _ Alas _ , there’s too many airships in the skies to compete. I’ve decided to look into new entrepreneurial endeavours, let the market tell me what is in demand...” He gave a little shrug as the waitress brought the fresh round of drinks that Arnor had ordered for the table.

I’zuna hopped up immediately to take them from her, handing them out herself to each person, and after a few moments of encouraging Elwyn and Thorvaesch, she settled herself back down next to Pascalle. Her tail once again swishing provocatively close to his lap. He looked across at Nasrinne, now sandwiched directly between Lord Arnor on the one side, and Elwyn on the other.

_ This was a stupid plan _ . Pascalle thought to himself bitterly.

“What business are you in, Philippe?” Fabrice’s question cut through his silent lament.

“Yes, Philippe, you hadn’t mentioned what it is you do.” I’zuna said as she glanced coyly up in his face. Her lips peeling back in a sultry smile.

“ _ My Naz, you finished that quick _ .” He heard Elwyn speak from his new spot next to her. “ _ Shall I order you another? _ ”

“ _ That would be most kind of you, Wyn. Thank you _ .”

“Well, my family is in the Antiquities business,” Pascalle lied, feeling his smile strained. “My business is my family’s money really; you know how it is in Ishgard.” He forced himself to laugh, but it was a hollow, pompous sound. Not his own. Still his mind was buzzing with the Baron’s choice of words,  _ overland travel for Eorzean citizens _ ? That’s a funny way to say you run a caravan. But they were just words. It was just a phrase. There was nothing concrete within them, really. Still, there was something between Fabrice and Arnor. Pascalle could sense it. When he finally found his nerve to look over at Nasrinne again, he could tell, she sensed it too.

\----


	10. Chapter 10

##  **Chapter 10**

**_The Goblet; Thanalan_ **

In the windowless opulence of The Gold Saucer, no sunlight streamed through. Time was marked only by the hands on the chronometers that occasionally adorned the walls. Pas wasn’t sure how much time had passed at the table. After the bottle of wine had been finished, I’zuna had extended a private invitation to the three Ishgardians and Lord Arnor. (Much to Elwyn’s dismay, and Pascalle’s relief. Thorvaesch didn’t seem much bothered.)

Still, his nerves were frazzled by the time the party of five stepped off the airship; and his shoulder’s painfully taut. Every time the Miqo’te’s tail had brushed his thigh an unwelcome tension had spread through his whole body. As if her touch turned him into a mannequin. To make matters worse, Nasrinne had spent the whole evening batting her eyes at Elwyn and Arnor, and even old, grey-haired Fabrice. Though they had needed all that eye fluttering to coax the Baron to join them. That necessity, however, had apparently not been enough to keep him from going green with envy. (At least on the inside.)

Nasrinne’s nerves were frayed too, (although he couldn’t know it.) She had already been  _ well _ and truly fed up with the sound of I’zuna’s breathy sighs by the time she had finished her second glass of wine. And then, the way she kept leaning close to Pascalle as the airship rocked through the sky? ( _ Sinful _ .) But he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the Miqo’te all night. And she couldn’t stop herself from feeling perturbed by it.

I’zuna’s apartment back in Ul’dah was not too far from their own. Although, unlike their little ground floor townhouse, hers was several floors  _ above _ the ground level. The quarters were nothing short of decadent once she opened her door and ushered them inside.

“Arny, you should take them out to enjoy the view!” She gave a little clap, cupping her hands beneath her chin again. “I’ll fix us some drinks.”

Lord Arnor nodded, opening the wide double doors and gesturing for the three Elezen to go on ahead of him.

“How pretty.” Nasrinne said, her fingers curving around the iron rail as she looked out across the city lights.

“It’s a beautiful view.” Pascalle agreed, though in truth he wasn’t looking at the lights, he was looking at her.

“I’m sure you’ve seen it plenty of times though.” She said, turning around to face Arnor and Fabrice, “Not like us tourists.” She gave a soft chuckle before she glanced toward Pascalle feeling her heart tremble slightly in her chest as the balmy desert wind tousled his hair.

“A few times.” Arnor replied to her, “Though this is a first for you, isn’t it, Rougecarpe?”

“Now I’m sure the good Baron has seen plenty of pretty views from balconies in his time. You said you had been here since before the end of the Dragonsong War, after all.”

“Oh, yes. Now and then…” Came his reply, followed by a short, stilted laugh. The truth was Fabrice looked a little pale beneath the moonlight. There was a tenseness to his jaw and brow that betrayed his agitation. It was obvious he was doing his utmost to play down his discomfort. But every now and again his eyes would flicker toward the street below them, or the balcony doors.

“Of course,” Arnor replied, still slippery as an eel. “I meant his first time ‘ere. At Zuna’s.”

Nasrinne’s ears pricked slightly, noticing the man’s minor slip in enunciation. Now that she thought about it, he had stumbled with his  _ lordly _ elocution when the Baron had first arrived at their table at the Saucer. She stole a sideward glance at Pascalle. She could tell, he’d noticed it too.

“You seem quite close with I’zuna, Lord Arnor.” Pascalle said casually, “How long have you known each other?”

“Several years, although we only became  _ quite close _ as ye put it, over the last two or three. Though, I should set about helpin’ fix them drinks for us.” He smiled, perhaps the broadest he had all evening. “You three keep on enjoying the view.” He drew the gossamer curtains as he walked back into the apartment, letting them drape across the open doorway, billowing softly.

“Something the matter old sport? Afraid of heights?” Pascalle asked the Baron discreetly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to the twinkling city lights below.

Fabrice waved his hands again dismissively,

“No, no…” He said, his eyes darting away from the street again. “No, I just… I’m much better in a crowd.” He laughed his stiff laugh again.

“Is it the matter of coin?” Pascalle asked him, “Your debt to Lord Arnor? He mentioned he had forgiven it…” At this, Fabrice stared at Pascalle like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. “If he’s giving you trouble, Fabrice… well, we’re here to help…” The knight continued with a furtive glance of his own toward the billowing curtains.

“Why? Why would you help me?” He said, looking at Pascalle clearly confused,

“Baron Rougecarpe.” Nasrinne said quietly, “Listen to me, we’re here on behalf of the Holy See and the newly founded Parliament. You’ve been reported  _ missing _ .”

“What? Who?” He hissed. His face looked as if he felt something was about to pounce out of the shadows at any minute.

“Calm down, Baron Rougecarpe.” Pascalle said, placing what he hoped was a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m with the Temple Knights, and Lady Nasrinne is with the Parliament. Someone is worried about you back home.”

Fabrice looked between them, torn. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again mutely. Shaking his head.

“If you won’t let us help you, then at least tell us about what happened to Amandine Lanencourt…” She pressed in an urgent hiss. The mention of the name brought something of a sheen to his eyes.

Pascalle’s eyes looked past his shoulder toward where Arnor and I’zuna were buzzing around the kitchen behind the sheer curtains. He gave a cheerful smile and a wave as the Miqo’te glanced their way.

“I told her.” Fabrice said to Nasrinne finally. “I told her not to go with Dione.” He shook his head ruefully, “But she wouldn’t listen…”

“Dione? Is that who she left the Saucer with?” It was a name she hadn’t come across yet during her busy work trying to trace the final steps Amandine had taken.

“I told her, I told her that he wasn’t what he seemed…” His words were the barest whisper, his eyes cast down to the warm sandstone floor at his feet. “It didn’t matter. Now he’s coming for me…”

“Who? Tell us Fabrice.” Pascalle urged him, “Who is it?”

“Who is what?” came the cheery voice from behind the curtain. Fabrice mastered himself quickly, the taut mask of guarded neutrality sliding back into place by the time I’zuna slipped through with two drinks in hand.

If Fabrice had been going to tell them anything, the moment was lost now. Nasrinne took the glass that was offered to her, it looked like some sort of punch.

“Baron Rougecarpe was telling us a little about one of his rivals at the triple triad tables.” She smiled, “It seems Philippe is quite a fan of the game.” Lying expertly. It was an impressively improvised lie, and both Pascalle and Fabrice laughed.

“Yes, quite right. Because it’s a thrilling game….” Fabrice said, his head bobbing up and down fervently.

“I was just telling Bricey he’ll take all the fun out of it if I play him though.” Pascalle gave the Baron’s shoulder a friendly clap with the hand that had been resting on it, before taking his glass from I’zuna.

“Well, don’t play Arnor then. Bricey just lost to him recently” I’zuna laughed, spinning nimbly on her feet and skipping back through the curtain as she called over her shoulder to them. “Come on back inside the three of you. Fabrice I’ll get your drink.”

“The fellow from the Triad Tables you mentioned… the one I should  _ avoid _ if I want to keep my coin. Dione was it?” Pascalle asked Fabrice conversationally as they moved inside, “What does he look like so I can be sure to avoid him?” His laughter was the perfect pitch; a low amiable chuckle that reverberated warmly across his lips and up to his smiling eyes. It was a masterful play at deceit and Nasrinne was uncertain whether it was very  _ pious _ of her to be struck so breathless by it.

“Oh yes, a little shorter than you, hair similar shade to sunset wheat... But a weathered looking fellow. I suppose it’s what some ladies might call  _ roguishly _ handsome.”

I’zuna laughed at this comment, handing Fabrice a cup of his own as she guided him to an armchair by the fireplace. The hearth was of course not lit. Nasrinne wondered if it ever did get cold enough to light. Arnor had settled himself into the other solitary chair on the opposite side of the rug. Which left just the lounge to sit upon. Once the Baron was seated, the Miqo’te turned back to Pascalle with another of her sultry smiles.

“You can come sit on the couch with me,  _ Philippe _ .” She purred at him, her hand brushing his forearm, “And Nasrinne.”

Of course,  _ her _ name was spoken like an afterthought, she thought sourly to herself as she brought the cup to her lips, settling herself against the arm of the couch on the other side of Pascalle, trying to ignore how much I’zuna’s maddening proximity to the knight bothered her.

The drink tasted sharp, there was a citrus tang to it, oranges. But something else that tickled her memory. A lingering familiarity. She licked her lips, studying the glass.

“It’s a Garlean Pincer.” Arnor said to her with his easy smile, “Zuna and I make ‘em when we be gettin’ together. Fun little recipe, this one.”

“I bet they don’t drink those up in Ishgard!” I’zuna laughed, bumping her shoulder to Pascalle’s “Right,  _ Philippe? _ ”

“No. No, I’ve never heard of them before.” He replied before bringing the glass up to his lips for a sip. The taste tickled his throat as it rolled down, “Not bad…” He said with a smile that was short-lived as an acrid taste settled on his tongue, he smacked his lips together, “Although it’s got a slightly bitter aftertaste.”

“It’s what helps the fruit taste sweeter.” She said as she leaned into his shoulder.

“Garlean Pincer though? Now they’re a sorry lot… from what I hear. I’m surprised they allowed a drink to be named after them.” Pas jested.  _ No wonder their drinks taste of piss, _ he thought to himself.

_ Ugh _ . Nasrinne thought, her eyes flickered toward Fabrice again, he’d nearly finished his drink.  _ Probably a smart idea _ . She thought to herself a tad ruefully.  _ A bit of liquid courage to help put on a brave face till we can quit this infernal place. _ She took another large gulp of the Garlean cocktail.

“Let me get ya next round, Rougecarpe.” Arnor said as he rose from his seat, “You drowned yer own too, Naz.” He smiled at her, “Better ‘urry on with yours, Philippe, or ya might get left behind by the old man and the bard.”

The Baron’s reply came like a slur,  _ Thaanks Aarrny. _ He drawled, a much more relaxed smile upon his face than when they had stood out on the balcony. This seemed slightly peculiar to Pas. But then again, he knew nothing of the man’s constitution.

“I must admit, I’m more partial to a nice bottle of Lohmani Rosso.” He chuckled in reply to Arnor,

“Ah, a nice Lohmani. I think our tastes align.” Arnor said as he made his way back into the kitchen.

Nasrinne closed her eyes, marking the beat of her heart in her chest. It seemed to have slowed remarkably in the last few moments. She tried to concentrate on the conversation happening around her.

_ “You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle on hand? I’m not sure my Ishgardian sensibilities were built to handle the Garlean palate.” _

There was the faint  _ clink _ as the pitcher hit the side of the Baron’s glass,

_ “I’m sorry old boy. Zuna only keeps the ‘ard stuff. Give it a go though. I wasn’t partial at first. But it grew on me.” _

They sounded a million miles away.

She opened her eyes, looking up toward one of the lamps that hung from the ceiling above them. It shimmered and sparkled, the light dancing in rainbow refractions across her eyes. Like the kaleidoscope lights of the Gold Saucer. But this wasn’t the Gold Saucer. This was an apartment in Ul’dah, and lights in an apartment in Ul’dah shouldn’t look this beautiful. Her eyes fell back down to the almost-empty cup in her hand.

“ _ Please try it Philippe _ .” Came I’zuna’s girlish pleading.

There had been something that had been bothering Nasrinne all night about the way I’zuna said that name.

_ Hemmet told me all about you _ . I’zuna’s words came back to her. That was what had been bothering her about the way the Miqo’te was saying his name. It wasn’t just jealousy. (Although that was part of it.) 

_ She knew who Pascalle really was _ .  _ They both knew _ . If Hemmet had told I’zuna all about her. Then of course he’d mentioned Pascalle. And I’zuna had no doubt told Arnor… and the drinks. The bitter aftertaste. She realised she knew what it was. When Nasrinne had only been the tender age of fifteen, she had read about a plant called  _ belladonna _ in one of her Father’s botany books. About how queens and ladies had put it in a tea to dilate their pupils and make their eyes bigger. She had thought maybe she would give it a go…

_ “I made them special, just for you.” _ I’zuna’s hand was lingering  _ heinously _ close to Pascalle’s thigh.

But that wasn’t the touch of the hand he felt.

Nasrinne slapped her palm flat against his chest, pushing him backwards into the plush velvety fabric of the lounge as she braced herself against him. While her glass, clutched in her other hand, went crashing into the temple of the startled Miqo’te. Shattering across her face and through Nasrinne’s fingers. I’zuna’s shrill screech barely registered in her ears as she turned her face to look at Pascalle.

“Don’t drink it Pas.”

She said it in such an ethereally calm voice, her lips just a hair's breadth from his face. Her touch warm and welcoming against his skin. Her eyes wide, shining; and she smelled of lilac? Honeysuckle?

“Don’t drink it?” He repeated, somewhat stupidly really.

“It’s full of belladonna.” She told him, earnestly.

His head swam with the unhelpful thought that this would have been a nice moment... If they hadn’t just been poisoned in a stranger’s apartment, who Nasrinne had just struck with a glass, while investigating a series of disappearances and murders.

Then Nasrinne seemed to realise where her hand was, and the dangerous proximity of their faces and she pulled back slightly.

A sharp bout of laughter from the kitchen snapped him back to reality.

“Aye, that be the main ingredient in a Garlean Pincer. Ya must be a right clever bitch to pick that out with all we done ta mask the shitty taste.” Arnor snarled. He had pulled himself a sword from somewhere in the kitchen. He raised it, pointing the tip towards them. “Not clever enuf ya not get yerself trapped, though.”

Pascalle dropped his drink to the floor, grabbing hold of Nasrinne’ wrist, pulling her swiftly to her feet alongside him.

“ _ Oh!”  _ She gasped, (in that entirely too girlish way that she hated,) as he spun her behind him.  _ I bet he’s a marvellous dancer. _ She thought to herself, quite inappropriately for the situation at hand.

“Quick, go take cover with Fabrice.” He barked without looking toward her, his eyes trained instead on the point of Arnor’s blade. There was no option now but to fight.

Pascalle searched in his peripheries for some sort of makeshift weapon. At least something he could use to defend them.

“Who would have known Lord Arnor was a man of  _ cowardice _ .” He scoffed, trying to buy himself sometime as his eyes spied a bronze serving tray on a table not far from the balcony entrance. “You would poison us, insult a Lady, and then attack an unarmed man?”

Nasrinne had managed to make her way to the Baron’s side, her hand gripping the back of his armchair as she tried to take stock of the situation. Fabrice was already slumped over, snoring. By her estimates she’d be joining him sometime in the next five-to-seven-minutes. It really depended how much of a tolerance she had built up during her experimental youth… but this was probably much more than she’d ever put in her tea.

I’zuna’s howling had ceased. Nasrinne’s eyes searched the room for any sign of the Miqo’te.

“ _ Shit _ .” Nasrinne cursed, ( _ very unlady like behaviour _ , she could hear Ygrinne’s voice in the back of her mind like a far-off echo.) Arnor had a rapier poised at Pascalle’s throat, I’zuna was missing, and Nasrinne was going to be absolutely useless very soon. 

“Pas, I’zuna’s missing!” She cried out in alarm as she watched him turn his back to Arnor.

“Now, yer to find out why they be callin that lass the Sun’s Mirage” Arnor smirked at her, before vaulting himself over the counter, charging toward the knight.

“ _ Shit _ .” Pas doubled down on the curse. Where could she have gotten to? But there wasn’t enough time to hesitate. “ _ Be careful, Nasrinne _ .” He cried out, dashing forward in a dive for the serving tray. He snatched it up; sending empty glassware and cutlery crashing down around the floor, flinging the heavy metal plate in the direction of Arnor’s rapidly approaching face. The Hyur didn’t have time to dodge, he barely had time to raise his arms to protect his head as the tray came hurtling toward him. Smashing against his forearms before it clattered to the floor.

For his size, Pascalle was remarkably nimble. He didn’t waste a second, ducking into a roll across the hardwood floors that brought him skipping nimbly to his feet within grappling range. There was something about watching him fight, Nasrinne thought to herself. Every movement flowed with such dazzling grace as he spun low on his heel, sidestepping a clumsy strike from the hilt of Arnor’s blade to bring his fist crashing into the man’s face.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Did you really think you can best a Temple Knight of Ishgard?” She giggled with a delighted smile. “Don’t you know how you become a Temple Knight?” She didn’t mean to be laughing so much. She didn’t mean to be talking at all really. (But alcohol and opiates have a way of encouraging you to do things you don’t mean to.)

If he were not so focused on the moment at hand, he would have been terribly embarrassed by the praise being heaped on him by Nasrinne. But as it stood, he  _ was _ focused on the moment at hand, and holding Arnor at bay.

“Pas slew a dragon! Do you really fancy yourself a dragon Lord Arno- _ oh _ .” Nasrinne’s glib taunt stopped short as a strong grip on her hair tugged her head backward. She felt something sharp press against her side.

“If you even move an inch.  _ Pascalle _ ,” The Miqo’te purred, using his real name. “I’ll split her right open.”

He heard I’zuna’s voice, looking up to see her, face pressed against Nasrinne’s. The fresh blood from her temple smeared across both of their cheeks. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“You know, I thought you were nice at first.” Nasrinne said to her with a frown, (and apparently nary a worry about provoking her further.)

“ _ I am nice _ .” I’zuna hissed as she took a step to the side, dragging Nasrinne with her. The dagger pricking through the dark satin of her dress to kiss her flesh. “You’re just in mine and Arnor’s way. I don’t need some  _ prissy whore _ from Ishgard sweeping in here and undoing all the hard work I’ve done getting Hemmet wrapped around my little finger.”

“Don’t waste me time I’zuna.” Arnor hissed, attempting to use her distraction to move himself back within striking range.

“ _ Prissy whore? _ ” Pascalle repeated the words, feeling incensed by them to an illogical degree considering they were probably the least concerning thing about their current predicament. His lips drew back in a snarl. “She’s right, you’re not very nice.” He spat, “Even for an Ul’dah floozy.” Then he dropped to a crouch beneath the swing of Arnor’s sword, aiming a sweeping kick at the man’s legs.

There was a loud  _ thunk _ as Arnor’s feet went out from underneath him, the back of his head smacking against the counter. Pascalle moved like lightning, grabbing the blade as it slipped from the Hyur’s grip and clattered across the floor. He could see Nasrinne and I’zuna staggering as they struggled with one another out of the corner of his eye,

“Call her off!” He shouted at Arnor, raising the tip of the blade to his throat.

But it was too late for that. 

“I warned you!” He heard I’zuna’s squeal.

“You know, Zuna.” Nasrinne felt etherally calm as she drove her elbow backwards into the Miqo’te’s abdomen. She felt the sting of steel, piercing her flesh. “I used to sneak belladonna drops into my tea when I was fifteen to make my eyes look pretty, so that’s why your little concoction didn’t really work so well on me.” Offering up this information as if it was something that she needed to share for the sake of fairness to everyone present. Now, Nasrinne was certainly not in top form, what with the matter of being poisoned and all. Still, she had spent years drawing back the string of a composite bow. Which meant the strike still packed enough of a punch to wind her assailant. The two of them broke apart, each stumbling in different directions.

_ You did what _ ? Pascalle thought.  _ So, that’s how she knew it was in the drinks. _ A semi-detached feeling of amusement was blossoming as he turned. Until he saw her the dark stain beginning to spread across the satin of her dress.

“Nasrinne!” It was all he could say, he felt as if his heart had just leapt up his throat and out his mouth. It was reflexes, instinct, that sent the heel of his boot crashing into Arnor’s jaw. Knocking the Hyur back into the once-immaculate-now-blood-spattered counter, for the second time. Then he was rushing to her side.

“I’ve never been stabbed before.” She told him with an entirely ill-suited smile upon her lips, before she toppled over into his waiting arms and they both sank to the floor.

“Nasrinne…” He said again as he lowered her onto the rug, kneeling over her, his eyes brimming with panic as he looked from her stupid grin, to the tear in her dress.

There was a gust of hot night air as the front door of the apartment burst open.

“I’zuna!” Arnor yelped weakly, but the Miqo’te was already halfway across the room, headed toward the balcony. Slipping through the curtain, like a shadow, over the railing into the murky darkness of the Ul’dah night.

“Rhalgr’s breath!  _ It’s bloody Arnor _ !” Came a familiar, albeit unexpected voice.

“Is that Hemmet?” Nasrinne asked looking up at Pascalle,

It was Hemmet.  _ Who’s he here to help? _ Pascalle wondered as he glanced up at the guardsman standing in the doorway. The look on his face seemed to suggest however, that Hemmet was not  _ upset _ to find the other man bloodied and barely conscious.

“Yes, it’s the Sergeant.” He replied to her, a little distracted. He needed to stem this bleeding. His eyes searched desperately for something and then he settled with just tearing the sleeve of his shirt. Wadding the silk and applying pressure to the open wound. Nasrinne seemed mostly oblivious to his distress.

“Oh well, we could have used him a bit earlier.” Grievous wounds and poison weren’t enough to dampen her dry humour, apparently. He laughed in spite of himself, running his hand across her forehead, smoothing the tousled hair back from her face, trying not to let the growing anxiety he felt show in his eyes.

“Just, try to stay awake.” He said to her, “Talk to me about something, does Jhuls know you were sneaking belladonna in your tea?” He joked, although his smile was thin.

“Jhuls,” She scoffed, “I’ve only ever had Jhuls to tell me that my eyes look pretty. Do my eyes look pretty? I actually should ask someone other than Jhuls.” Her rambling faded into a sigh as she looked up at him. “You don’t need any belladonna to make your eyes look pretty, Pas. You’ve got impossibly beautiful eyes; do you know that?” She asked him, quite sincerely, before her eyelids began to flutter closed.

“No. No, Nas, wake up.” He said, shaking her shoulder lightly. He looked up again to find Hemmet already grabbing Arnor by the collar, the finger of his other hand pressed to his ear.

“Yes, it’s Sergeant Hemmet, requesting reinforcements…” He said into the linkpearl, giving the Flame’s dispatch a description of I’zuna and a rundown of the situation as he could see it. “...And send a conjurer as well. We’ve got wounded.” He glanced over toward Nasrinne, brow crinkling with concern. 

Pascalle breathed a sigh of relief at those words. Looking away from Nasrinne’s pale face and faintly rising chest for a moment to see the Sergeant secure Arnor to a chair.

“Looks like Ser Pascalle did a right job on you, Arnor.” Hemmet said as he yanked the man’s arms roughly behind his back to bind them. “I’ve been prying I’zuna for months about you. Who knew you’d be stupid enough to run afoul of two veterans of the Dragonsong war.”

Arnor for his part had fallen silent. Eyes glassy as they looked down toward the blood-stained toes of his boots. Probably contemplating his chances of getting out of gaol.

“I should have known that Miqo’te and Arnor were trouble.” Pascalle whispered beneath his breath.

“Aye, I’zuna is trouble alright. Got her pretty little claws all through the Ul’dahn underworld.” Hemmet said as he finished tying the last knot “We’ve been working her to get to Arnor here. He’s mixed up in the smuggling business you see. But not anymore, eh, Arny?” He taunted as he stood, ruffling the man’s hair before walking over toward where Pascalle was crouched beside Nasrinne. “So when one of the boys there undercover saw the two of you leaving with I’zuna, I knew there was going to be trouble…” He shook his head with a remorseful tut, “I’m only sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

It didn’t please Pascalle to admit that Hemmet really did save the day here. Albeit he was still grateful.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be alright.” The Sergeant said softly, placing a hand on the knight’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” He murmured, “I am not sure where we’d be now if you hadn’t arrived when you did.” He shook his head regretfully,

“I should thank you.” Hemmet said, “Somehow you two managed to get Arnor to come here without his muscle, the Hrothgar.”

“Thorvaesch…” Pascalle nodded, “I think I’zuna underestimated Nasrinne… they planned to drug us. Belladonna, Nasrinne realised and stopped me before I had any…”

“I really didn’t want Nasrinne getting mixed up in all of that, at the Saucer.” Hemmet said as he looked over the unconscious form of the bard. “She’s a sweet-natured thing...” He cleared his throat,

“She is good natured. But I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.” He replied, a small smile creeping across his lips. “I’zuna is going to remember Nasrinne each time she looks in the mirror for a good, long while…”

“Who’s this sleepy old boy?” Hemmet’s eyes swung toward Fabrice, “One of Arnor’s?”

“They called him Bricey, another Ishgardian.” Pas shook his head. “I don’t think he’s involved with them. He seemed reluctant to come here truth be told, I think he owed Arnor money…” Though Hemmet had saved the day the last thing they needed was him compromising their investigation further. The way Arnor and I’zuna had spoken about him still worried Pas.

Thankfully, Hemmet didn’t get to press his questions any further. The reinforcements arrived and the apartment’s living room was soon bustling with bodies, including the conjurer who shooed Pascalle out of the way, leaving him to stand helplessly to the side and watch while she tended to Nasrinne. It was another Miqo’te, which Pas felt concerned him more than it should have. (Clearly his feelings about I’zuna had coloured his opinions with a touch of bias.)

“The injury will still be tender, and she may have a small scar.” The conjurer said as she rose again. “But the danger has passed, the wound is closed over. The herb in her system, however, may still take some time to wear off.”

Pascalle knelt back down next to the sleeping Nasrinne. The colour had returned to her face. He finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I should take her back to the apartment.” He said quietly, “Can she be moved from here?” He looked up toward the conjurer again.

The silver-furred Miqo’te nodded.

“Carefully though. Is it far?”

Pas shook his head in the negative, gingerly lifting her unconscious form and cradling her to his chest.

“What you’ll just carry her there?” Hemmet asked him. “Don’t you want me to call you a porter or something?”

“She’s light as a feather compared to some of the brothers who I’ve borne on my shoulder’s back to base.” Pascalle replied, his voice dropping to a whisper as Nasrinne stirred ever so slightly, her cheek nestling against the crook of his shoulder. He tried to remind himself that there was nothing sweet, or adorable, about the current situation; doing his best to keep the tender smile from creeping onto his lips. (At least until he turned away from the Sergeant.) “Thank you again, Sergeant Hemmet. I’ll let you know as soon as she awakens. We’ll be happy to help you further with your investigations against Lord Arnor however you need once she’s recovered.”

“Of course, Ser Pascalle. You both deserve some rest.” It was barely noticeable, but there was just a hint of curtness to his tone. The Sergeant was jealous. Pas smirked, perhaps a little ungraciously, as he stepped out into the hall.

\----


	11. Chapter 11

##  **Chapter 11**

**_The Goblet; Thanalan_ **

It really was only a short walk. Once he arrived inside their little home away from home he paused, deliberating for a moment what he should do. It would be too untoward to enter her bedroom while she was sleeping like this. Obviously, his room was out of the question. He finally set Nasrinne down gently on the lounge in the apartments large living space. Taking the soft, woollen throw rug from where it was slung over the arm and laying it over her.

She looked so peaceful there.  _ If something had happened to you… _ He grimaced at the thought, turning his gaze from her. He had  _ promised _ Jhulayne he would keep her safe… What was he going to tell him? He paced restlessly as he wrestled with his thoughts. As tired as his limbs were, his mind felt wide awake. Too busy torturing itself with hypotheticals. After some time wandering aimlessly about the lounge, he decided he needed to do something to keep his hands busy. He fetched himself his sketch book and some charcoal pens and sat himself down in the armchair opposite the lounge.

He felt the tension in his shoulders relax slightly as the lines and shadows began to take shape on the page.

_ Nasrinne was dreaming. _

They were strange dreams. Because she  _ knew _ they were dreams.

_ Come on, Nas _ , Jhulayne called to her wearing the unruly mop of curls he had worn when she was just knee high. But when he waved her over, he was still missing a hand. She ran to him through the long, dry summer grass. She felt the sun, warm, in the cornflower blue sky above her.  _ Take aim _ . He whispered gesturing to the pheasant in the shrubs with the emptiness where his finger should have pointed.

It was if she watched her own tiny hands draw the bow string back and let the arrow fly loose, saw her own wide, shining eyes as it sped toward its target. Heard the sound of her brothers hushed, awed gasp when he realised it would strike true. It was an idyllic moment from her childhood.

Until quite abruptly,  _ she _ became the pheasant. And she had to watch as the sharp steel tip soared through the air toward her breast. Listen to herself laugh gleefully, a  _ cruel _ sound really; as the point punctured through feather and flesh to crumple hollow bones and skewer her right in her heart.

Then, with as little warning, she was in the Golden Saucer again. She recognised the décor as the Violet Lounge. Everything was sparkling like jewels and her ears were filled with music. A chaotic jumble of horns and strings and rhythmic claps. She was watching herself on the stage performing, although… she had no idea what gibberish she was singing. She was wearing a dark red dress, practically crimson, with a decidedly un-Ishgardian hemline. Ygrinne was there sitting at a table in the front row looking at her with her lips drawn into a tight disapproving frown. The stage seemed to be spinning as well, or the room. Or no, actually she was dancing with Pascalle, who spun her toward something. A chair? Yes, she fell into it, looking up at his handsome face, as it was looking down at hers, leaning perilously close…

The dream shifted again. Now she was in her room at her sister’s house. In Ishgard. Watching the snow falling softly outside her window. It was the night Jhulayne had brought Pascalle to dinner, it felt less like a dream and more like a memory. Right up until the point where instead of running into Pascalle with her brother in the hallway she ran into I’zuna, who stabbed her. While Jhulayne, (very rudely,) laughed?

This was the point when Nasrinne finally awoke. Blinking rapidly as she stared up at the ceiling of the apartment, not recognising it immediately.

Bits and pieces of the evening started to come back to her.

_ Pascalle _ . She thought suddenly,  _ don’t drink the… _ She tried to rise, but a pain shot along the side of her ribs. (Which of course, hurt terribly, because she had actually been stabbed, though she still wasn’t sure that hadn’t been a dream.)

She struggled to sit up, her eyes searching the familiar surroundings as she realised, she was at home. Well, home in Ul’dah. She whirled her head around, frantically looking for Pas, finding him, sound asleep upon the armchair. She felt the fear that had been rising in her throat subside. The light of the sun was already creeping through the glass panes of the courtyard doors, falling across his sleeping face.  _ He’s so beautiful _ . She thought to herself. Was it strange to think a man was beautiful? Well, Pascalle was handsome. But lots of men could be handsome. Pascalle was  _ more _ than handsome. What was the word for that? 

There was a small lamp, still burning on the side table next to him, his sketchbook fallen into his lap, charcoal pen tumbled from fingers, settled in the crease between the open pages. She wondered how long he’d been sleeping there.

“Pascalle…” She called gently, almost feeling guilty to wake him. The knight stirred at the sound of his name, his sharp, clear blue eyes flickering open from behind his heavy eyelids. It didn’t take him long to be on his feet, sketchbook closed with a snap and tossed onto the seat of the chair behind him as he rushed toward her.

“Thank the twelve you’re awake.” He said as his strong hands closed around her shoulders, “Lay back down, you need to rest,” His voice was firm, but still tinged by his obvious relief. “Do you remember what happened?”

“The drink it was…”

“Poisoned. You told me.” He couldn’t help himself, he started to grin at her, “Right before you broke your glass over I’zuna’s head.”

“I did  _ what _ ?” She gave a little gasp, which turned into a larger gasp at the tenderness in her side.

“Yes. You really gave us the upper hand with that little move. No one was expecting you to know there was belladonna in it.”

“Why do my ribs hurt so much?” She asked him after musing for a moment to try and recall what he was saying, but only finding blurred and distorted fragments of memory mixed with her strange dreams.

“Unfortunately, I’zuna managed to…”

“Oh. She stabbed me.” Nasrinne said as the memory of her elbowing the Miqo’te came back to her, clear as day. “I’ve never been stabbed before.” She said, half-jokingly even though it was a completely true statement.

Pascalle laughed as he perched himself at the opposite corner of the lounge.

“That’s what you said when she did it, too.”

“Did I really?” Nasrinne tried to suppress her chuckle for fear of bothering the wound, it’s nature now revealed to her.

“I’m just glad you’re alright.” He gave a deep sigh of relief. “Hemmet arrived in the nick of time… He called the conjurer…” He said slowly, trying hard not to sound sour.

“That’s right…” She murmured, vaguely recalling something about the Sergeant.

“You gave me quite a fright though, Nas.” He chuckled, “Let’s not go getting punctured by a blade again any time soon.”

“Sorry to make you worry…” She said it shyly. She wasn’t exactly sure why she felt shy, but she did. “I suppose I have you to thank for getting me back here safe and sound.”

“Safe? Nasrinne, you were just poisoned and stabbed. Honestly I told Jhulayne I wouldn’t let– ”

“ _ Don’t _ mention this to Jhuls, not just yet.” She cut him off, “I’m here,” She gestured around them at the apartment, “and I  _ know _ that is thanks to you. So, please, Pascalle. Just accept my gratitude.”

He watched her for a long moment with those impossibly piercing eyes of his.

“Alright.” He said finally. “But you still need to rest.” His voice was firm again, “Do you need me to help you to your room, or are you comfortable here?” He reached over, fussing with her blanket.

“I’m fine.” She smiled, reaching for his hand, which he offered up immediately. His grip was soft, yet still strongly reassuring. Nasrinne almost didn’t want to let it go again, “But you should get to bed, and get some proper rest… You’ll get sore shoulders napping in the armchair like that.”

He hesitated for a moment; she could feel his gaze on her, as if warily assessing the likeliness that she was telling the truth.

“Don’t worry, Pas.” She looked back toward him, “I’d rather be out here, it’s easier to get up from the lounge than it will be from bed.”

She watched the deliberations playing out on his face until Eventually, his exhaustion won out over his worry. He stood, plumping up the cushions behind her head.

“I’ll leave the door ajar, so you can just call me if you need anything.” He said.

“Go. Rest.” She instructed him with a crooked smile, “Else I won’t rest either for asking you a million questions.”

He returned it with a wry grin of his own before making his way upstairs, shaking his head as his hand skimmed along the bannister.

An agitated silence settled in around her after he’d left, and her mind began to fret over things. How embarrassing it must have been for Pascalle to have to carry her all the way back here. What would Yggy say when she found out she smashed a glass over a dancing girl's face? What  _ would _ they tell Jhulayne?

Her plan had been ill-thought through, apparently. Although how could she have ever known Hemmet and I’zuna knew one another? Or that Lord Arnor was some underworld figure? She sighed to herself. Playing at investigator always seemed much easier in stories.

Nasrinne’s eyes trailed around the room, looking for something to distract her from her worrisome thoughts. She saw Pascalle’s sketchbook, tossed onto the chair. What had he been drawing? She wondered, pushing herself to her feet, ignoring the pain and moving the short distance toward the chair to pick up the soft leather journal.

She flipped through it until she came upon a page of snowy white, then she turned it back over to look at the last sketch.

It was her. Leaning against the railing of the balcony at I’zuna’s place. He must have drawn it from memory. A study to pass the time, anatomy or some such. Artists were like that, she told herself. Still, she bit her lip as she looked over it. She could feel the tips of her ears beginning to grow warm, and she knew she was blushing. Well, it couldn’t have been a  _ proper _ study of her, for she doubted she looked half as pretty. She closed it, putting it back down on the cushion of the armchair.

Then she took a few soft steps backward to lean one hand upon the arm of the lounge, the other still gently resting against the wound that thrummed and throbbed painfully in the back of her mind.

“This is why Yggy always tells you that curiosity is a beastly trait.” She said as she eased herself onto the cushions, breaking the silence with her whisper. “And this is why everything ended up shaped like an alligator pear at the Saucer. You’re not seventeen anymore, Nasrinne. You have to put a stop this… this…  _ stupid _ infatuation… Also, You're talking to yourself, and I  _ think _ you might still be tanked-up.” Her sigh was heavy as she sunk down beneath the woolen blanket and forced herself to close her eyes. Mercifully, sleep came to her swiftly, and if she dreamed again, this time she didn’t remember them.

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End file.
